No Regrets
by xX-Misty
Summary: After being stripped of his title Jim Keats has been the unclaimed prize in the battle between man and monster. When Gene and Alex hear of a familiar prisoner on the loose the fallout from the chase will lead Keats to make the ultimate choice, but which way will his decision finally fall?
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

"There's nothing like being back in your own bed," Alex sighed, sliding her arm across Gene's chest and resting her head against his shoulder. It had been a little while since they'd enjoyed the comforts of their own home. Their honeymoon had been fantastic; three glorious weeks of sun, sea and other more carnal things beginning with S. Despite one or two unexpected hitches which culminated in Gene acquiring the largest round in existence from one of the most notorious criminals of all time it had been a blessed break from the rat-race and a wonderful way to kick off their married lives together.

No sooner than they'd arrived back on home soil than they were heading north for a week in Gene's home town. Alex had found it interesting and fitting to finally see the places Gene had spent years regaling her with stories about, although their visit to the very non-etherial every-day Railway Arms had been a mistake.

"_How fitting it is for you to arrive on London theme night!" _Nelson had greeted them happily.

Alex hadn't even seen Gene run so fast when faced with Nick Nailer and a pocket full of change for the payphone.

"Back to the day job tomorrow," Gene sighed. Alex knew how he was feeling, There was a part of her that couldn't wait to get back into it, but there was another part of her that just wanted to stay in the little bubble that their honeymoon had created, just the two of them, enjoying their time as newlyweds without having to worry about anybody else.

"I know," she sighed.

"Think there'll be anything left of the place?" Gene mumbled.

"I think everything will still be pretty much as you left it," Alex told him, "except for Bammo whom, I'm reliably informed, has picked up a few body mods after Kim disapproved of him going after Simon with water balloons and a catapult."

"They'll all be flocking round ready to raid me duty free," Gene complained and Alex slapped him playfully across the chest.

"Are you going to spend our last day of freedom complaining about your colleagues looking for duty free or are you going to spend it with your wife, drinking the goods?"

Gene looked down a her, his fingers playing through her hair.

"You make a good point, Lady B," he told her, "they can't half-inch it when we've necked it."

"So go and get the bubbly out of the fridge and pay an emergency visit to latte land for a batch of their bagels and we'll make our last day one to remember," Alex suggested with a smile but as Gene's hand slipped from her hair and travelled under the covers Alex realised something else was on the menu.

"I'm hungry for something but it's not bagels and you can't get it in Latte Land," he told her which made her smirk a little.

"Not without getting banned for a fortnight," she said pointedly and Gene cleared his throat.

"Me hand slipped," he mumbled.

"So did my underwear," Alex pointed out.

As they dived beneath the duvet with thoughts of a lazy breakfast postponed for now Alex and Gene knew that although the honeymoon was at an end they'd barely started their married lives together. Four glorious week were only the beginning. It was time to get back to the daily grind, but the balance of the rings on their fingers showed a fundamental change to their lives. They'd had 4 weeks to get used to it themselves and now it was time for the rest of the world to see it.

Mr and Mrs Hunt were back in town

~xXx~

"_...begins his appointment as Commissioner for the City of London police at the end of the week."_

The news played out to the grotty little hostel room as Keats sat on the hard bed, his eyes unfocussed and bloodshot. He felt empty and broken. Where once the man and the monster had been battling it out for supremacy neither wanted to be in charge of an empty shell with no life, no future, no hope.

His eyes turned to the screen. He barely saw the images of the man on the news. He couldn't take them in, not really. He didn't dare because it was too painful, too unfair and too hard to handle. When he'd first seen the news a month ago it had almost ripped him apart. Zoning it out was all he could do. Zoning _everything_ out was the only way to survive. Not that he was even sure he wanted to, but the alternative wasn't much better.

For a month he'd been numb. After running from Simon one time too many and seeing him move on, then seeing the man whose instructions led to his comatose state receiving such an accolade, something just _snapped_. He couldn't let his mind control him any more. He had to rely on autopilot. He barely ate, barely washed, barely moved. Why _should_ he? He didn't even know who or what he was, except for bitter. Bitter and angry and broken.

The man had departed. The monster abandoned him too. No part of Jim Keats wanted control of a body that had nothing to live for. And for four weeks he'd lived that way, until _that face_ arrived on the news again, his appointment coming ever closer and Keats' anger began to rise.

He felt something stirring inside of him as he watched, the fury that let his pulse rise and his heart race. Where had _that_ come from? He'd blocked that anger out for so long that to feel the fire of rage burning through his veins again shocked him and left him trembling all over.

There they were all of a sudden; _emotions_. Flaming, burning, _twisting_ emotions. The anger, the resentment, the fury. Oh god, he hadn't felt them in so long. He hadn't _felt_ in so long. Now he couldn't do anything _but_ feel, feel all the anger he'd been burying, all in one go, like a flood of fire in his gut.

There in the background were other emotions. Ones he'd had to work even harder to bury. He wasn't ready to acknowledge those. Not at all.

But the rage; that was different. He couldn't ignore that. He wasn't sure he even _wanted_ to. He focused all his fury upon that man on the TV screen and knew that _this time_ things were going to be different.

"_This time," _he growled through gritted teeth, "you are going to _pay_ for what happened. I am your judge and jury. And _this time _you're going to pay."

He didn't lknow how. He didn't know when. But he knew it had to happen. He couldn't look after his younger self, he couldn't even choose whether to be a man or a monster but he _could_ make _that man_ pay for what he'd done to him. He'd stripped Keats of a normal life, stripped him of his chance to be a man.

Now Keats was going to give him his just desserts.

Tit for tat.

It wasn't revenge, it was simply justice. No come backs, no regrets. And the tiny human voice in the back of his mind that knew it was wrong would just have to shut its ruddy gob.

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: Welcome to another instalment of this ever-lengthening series of stories, and as anyone who I talk to on a regular basis will tell you, this is one I have waited to write for a VERY long time! I'm sort of nervous about it, I've been building up to it for so long! Thank you again to Jess for helping me choose the title because I could NOT narrow it down!**_

_**The start of this story may update a little less regularly than usual because there's a lot going on in the family so I've had less time to write but by the end of the month updates will be near daily again, hopefully! **_

_**Do I need to give a disclaimer? I'm just gonna get this tattooed somewhere. A2A does not belong to me. I'm just very happy to be in charge of Kim and Robin and Simon et al! First full chapter will be up tomorrow!**_


	2. Chapter 1: Playing Catch-Up

**Chapter 1**

"...So the next thing I knew, Gene had him by the top of his palm tree swimming trunks, marching him along, declaring _'it's going to take one bloody big jug of beer to buy your way out of this one'._"

Simon, Robin and Kim stared at Alex, open mouthed like a group of small children at the scary part of a fairytale.

"So what happened next?" Kim asked, watching the little smile on Alex's lips.

"So Nailer bought him a bloody big jug of beer," she explained, "suddenly they're downing pints like couple of old drinking buddies, bonding over their shared hatred of Arthur Layton and love of tacky palm tree swimming trunks."

"Oh my _god," _Simon could barely believe what he was hearing,

"I think your soft spot for the man is rubbing off," Alex told Robin.

"I wouldn't call it a soft spot," Robin protested, "he just... wasn't quite the hardened career criminal I expected him to be."

"Np, no, we completely understand now," Alex told him, "he was perfectly charming. Apologised for his bomb going off in the station, too."

"He apologised for shooting my dog once," Robin told her.

"The next thing I knew they were having a darts tournament and singing a rude song about Jim Keats," Alex sighed and shook her head, "I don't think Gene's had that bad a hangover since the night he got locked overnight in an off licence."

"What were you doing while he was partying with Nick Nailer?" Kim asked, her expression amused and bewildered,

"Had an interesting discussion with a familiar face," Alex told her. She sighed, recalling the deeply troubled Victoria Stone she'd seen tortured by Keats at Fenchurch West. She couldn't have been more different to the laid-back, contented woman in the blue bikini that Alex had spent much of the day talking to. "It seemed Gene and I were not the only ones on our honeymoon."

Three mouths fell open as Alex's friends gave a collective gasp of shock.

"_No,"_ they cried in disbelief.

"I'm _serious_, I'm totally serious," Alex told them, "all the reports from Interpol were true. Nailer and DI Stone had been together from the moment they fled the country. I know it seems unusual, but," she smiled distantly, "I can think of other unusual couples not a million miles away from me." She noticed Kim and Robin giving one another a little smile.

"That woman deserves happiness after what she went through," Kim said quietly.

"Some might say the same for Nailer," Robin added, recalling the older broken man he'd encountered back in the real world. That his younger self had found love with Victoria seemed poetic somehow.

"They make each other happy," Alex said with a little sigh, "they come from different backgrounds, different sides of the line -"

"Different worlds," Robin added.

"But when it comes down to it," she shrugged, "they just work. Plus it probably helps that..." she glanced at Kim, "do you remember the graffiti? On your desk? The one that used to be mine?"

"The one that travelled?" Kim asked quietly.

Alex nodded.

"DI March's poem about Nailer's _proportions_," she paused, "apparently it's all true."

Kim choked a little and scrambled backwards.

"_I didn't need to know that this early on a monday morning!" _she cried, clutching her stomach.

"So what happened in the end?" Simon asked, "did you arrest them or did Gene spend your entire honeymoon getting him to buy the beers as bribe money?"

Alex looked a little sad.

"By the following morning they'd moved on," she said, "I know that was to be expected, I just..." she closed her eyes and gave a gentle sigh, "it sounds strange but I almost wanted to get to know them better. 

"Doesn't sound strange to me," Robin said quietly.

It was the first time that Alex had really understood why Robin's brief kidnapping had such a profound effect on him.

"He sends his regards to you," she told him and he looked a little awkward.

"I hope no one else overhears this conversation because as a crime-fighting organisation we're not coming out of this very well," he commented.

"Yeah, might not be the best place to be talking about this," Kim added.

"Well perhaps tonight we'll have a chance to catch up," Alex told them, "we thought it might be nice to have a proper catch up; the three of you, Gene and myself. Just a couple of drinks, to get back into the swing of things, find out what we've missed. Tonight, at the pub. What do you say?"

Alex was a little disappointed by the less than enthusiastic reaction that met her.

"Maybe," Robin said quietly, "I'm not sure if I'll be up for it."

"You look a bit pasty," Alex told him with a frown of concern, reaching out to feel his forehead like a worried parent.

"I told you to stay home today, Rob," Kim said anxiously.

"I'm OK, I've probably just got that bug that's going around," Robin said, but he was looking extremely pale.

"Then you _definitely_ should have stayed at home!" cried Simon, backing away and clamping his hands over his mouth, "don't spread it around!"

"And what about you?" Alex asked Simon, "are you going to be there for a drink?"

Simon felt a little guilty as he apologised.

"Ohhhh, Alex, no, I can't, I'm sorry," he said, "I'm busy tonight."

"Which X-FIles are they repeating?" Alex asked but Simon seemed to redden.

"No, I'm going out," he said and Alex froze, her eyes fixed on him and mouth open in shock.

"_You?"_ She blurted before she realised how rude that sounded, "I mean, that's nice... where are you going?" 

Simon shrugged.

"Just for a drink," he said uncomfortably, a sentence which, apparently, turned Kim and Robin into eleven year olds who had just spotted a friend holding hands with someone on the playground.

"With _Michael,"_ Kim teased.

"What is it now, sixth? Seventh date?"

"It isn't a date," Simon told them.

"Eighth, I think," Kim interrupted.

"_It's not a date!"_ Simon cried.

"What do you call it then?" Robin asked.

"It's just a drink! _You_ go for drinks with people too." 

"Yeah, but I usually don't end the night by sticking my tongue halfway down their throat," Robin blurted, leaving Simon mortified for more reasons than one. He looked at Alex who's eyes were gleaming with the promise of some hot gossip.

"Simon," She began, "this is all a bit sudden, isn't it? When did this happen?" 

"_Nothing_ 'happened'," Simon said through gritted teeth.

"Things _did_ kind of _happen_," Kim pointed out "like waking up covered in smears of squirty cream."

Simon's face turned so red that he thought he might be mistaken for part of a traffic light.

"_I told you that in confidence!"_ He hissed as Alex clapped her hands together.

"Simon!" she cried, "you've met somebody! After all this time, you've met someone!"

"It's not _like_ that," Simon tried to protest but he had to admit that from the evidence they'd seen his protests weren't exactly effective. Yes, there _had_ been the one night stand, revealed in all its uncomfortable, awkward glory upon Michael's unexpected arrival at Fenchurch East. Then there had been a night at Robin and Kim's flat in which Simon had been plied with several measures of scotch to extract the full story. There had been some very difficult conversations between two red-faced, embarrassed men who had thought they'd never see one another again. And then there had been a drink to clear the air.

And then there'd been another drink. Then clubbing. Then dinner. In fact, every other night seemed to have been spent with Michael. Simon couldn't deny he enjoyed Michael's company. Or was it just that he enjoyed _someone's _company? And he had to admit that sometimes there'd been a bit too much of the good stuff that led to some spinny-headed kisses outside clubs or on the doorstep of his flat, and there'd been shots one night which ended with... something that Simon wasn't quite able to fully recall in the nightclub toilets.

And there'd been good humoured teasing and encouragement from his friends and his colleagues and all who were _so_ happy to see Simon with someone on his arm for the first time in almost 3 years. And Simon liked that. He couldn't deny it. He liked the attention and the teasing and having people think that he wasn't actually so un-loveable that no one wanted to be within 10 foot of him. He liked the fact that someone was there to call him up at the end of the day and drop him compliments and send him notes and emails and little presents. He liked that somebody liked him.

He liked Michael, he really did. And maybe, given time he would like him back the way that Michael liked him. _Maybe_.

He hung his head a little as a wave of guilt gripped his guts and squeezed them. _Shit_. Why didn't he like him _back?_ Michael was the most emotionally mature, level-headed, kind, generous, not to mention good looking man he could have hoped to meet. He treated Simon with respect and affection, he made him feel wanted and positive and good about himself. He gave Simon a boost of confidence and a reason to make the most of himself when he got up in the morning instead of throwing on a shirt and shaving if he had time.

The fact that he spent 96% of his time thinking about a different man made Simon burn with guilt.

"...I think it's very touching," Alex's voice pulled him out of his thoughts, "meeting at a wedding, finding romance -"

"It's not romance," Simon tried to change the subject, "and besides, it wasn't at the wedding, it was in the pub. I hope the rest of the reception went well, I'm sorry I ducked out."

"You had other things on your mind," Kim teased and Simon cringed.

"Can we stop talking about me, please?" he begged..

Alex decided it was best to stop probing Simon for gossip. She turned to Kim and asked,

"So, what about you? Will you come for a drink tonight?"

Kim looked surprisingly unenthusiastic considering she would usually chew through her own leg for the chance of spending a night in Alex's company.

"I'll try," she said, "the thing is, I have to go down to Surrey today. Talking to some college students to see if they can help us finally ID that body. The drive kills me. I'm not sure I'll be much up for going out tonight."

Alex sighed disappointedly. She'd been truly looking forward to a nice get together on their first evening back.

"Well," she sighed, "maybe we can all do it another night." She glanced at Kim. "Also, tomorrow's Tuesday."

She noticed that Kim's face took on a glow and she tried not to smirk.

"I thought you would have forgotten that by now," she said, a little awkwardly.

"You should know me better than that," Alex smiled. There as a moment of slightly nervous silence before eventually a reluctant Kim got to her feet and apologised.

"I have to get on the road, Ma'am," she said, "I want to get this over and done with as soon as possible. I'm not looking forward to going back there."

"Where are you going exactly?" Simon asked.

"Your favourite art college," Kim told him and Simon's eyes bolted.

"Oh _god_, don't tell me have to don the costume again?" he begged, "I don't have the constitution for that squirrel head!"

"Relax, I'm trying to solve a suspicious death, not the case of the missing hazelnuts," Kim sighed. She shuddered slightly. "I hate this drive. I feel sick even thinking about it."

Something I those words stirred up a memory that Alex had almost forgotten about. She recalled her suspicions at the wedding, when Kim and Robin's behaviour had both seemed so familiar. She never _had_ finished her conversation with Kim. She bit her lip for a moment, thinking back to that day before she dared to ask,

"What about you, Kim? Any exciting news? Anything interesting happened since we've been away?"

Kim thought for a moment and gave a shrug.

"I pierced Bammo's arse for throwing a bater balloon at the Fiat," she said.

"No, I meant," Alex cringed. There was no tactful way to ask it really. "I meant you and Robin. Anything exciting happened to you both? Any news to share?"

Kim and Robin looked blankly at one another.

"If you mean whether we've acted upon the catching of the bouquet we've not set a date yet," Robin told her, "let's deal with one wedding at a time!"

"No, I didn't..." Alex sighed. This was stupid. She looked at them both, their faces clueless. She knew Kim too well and if she was trying to keep it a secret she would have spotted the look in her eye. Either Kim still didn't even suspect herself or Alex had been wrong. A month was an awfully long time not to work it out, although this _was_ Kim and there _was_ a precedent for it. Then again, maybe Alex was just jumping to conclusions. Perhaps Kim wasn't _with child. _Maybe she was only_ with sausage rolls. _She sighed. "Never mind," she said, "I'm sure we'll catch up soon."

"OK, well, Ma'am, it's so good to have you back," Kim was feeling uncharacteristically brave and threw her arms around Alex's neck in a warm hug before she walked to the door, glancing back at Robin. "I'll see you later -" she trailed off and frowned. "Rob?"

Robin was fairly sure he didn't look well but he was trying to work through it so he waved his hand.

"I'm OK, Kimmy, I'll see you later." 

"you won't be OK if you keep calling me _Kimmy_," Kim told him, poking out her tongue, She waved absently and set off on her journey south to Surrey as Alex got to her feet.

"I suppose it's time to rejoin the rat race," she said. She paused and smiled. "but it's good to be back"

it truly was. After a month away she realised just how much she'd missed her friends and her work.

By the time their first case came in, however, she found herself quickly changing her mind.


	3. Chapter 2: Slime on the Streets

**Chapter 2**

Alex walked into her new husband's office almost as though she was lighter than air. There was a smile on her face and a lightness about her that no one could deny. She would have thought being back at work would bring her spirits down, but on the contrary she was thriving. She loved it. She loved everything about it, including the fact that she knew Gene was only ever down the corridor.

"That was the longest we spent apart since we got married," she commented as she walked towards his desk. She paused. "Well, apart from the night you ate the paella and spent three hours in the bathroom." She hesitated as she noticed Gene's expression, stiff and anxious. "That doesn't look good," she said. Gene rubbed his chin, trying to work out what to say.

"Think you might want to sit down," he told her and a worried Alex slowly did as he suggested.

"Is this a conversation that's going to require liquid refreshments?" she asked anxiously.

"If Stringer hasn't drunk me dry," Gene confirmed, checking in the drawer. To his surprise he found she hadn't touched a drop. "First time for everything," he commented.

Alex tried to wait patiently while he poured scotch for both of them but her nerves were starting to fray.

"Gene's what's going on? She asked quietly. Gene couldn't meet her eyes.

"Got a call," he began gruffly, "wasn't something I expected to hear." He took a deep breath as he finished pouring. "Remember last night, around the time when we were..."

"Making love?"

"I was going to say humping for England," Gene admitted, "same idea though." He sighed. "The light went out -"

"And you said it was a gift from the gods so I wouldn't see the remains of your sunburn."

Gene sighed again.

"Power was out for twenty minutes. Fault at the substation." He finally looked Alex in the eye. "Back up generators failed at HMP Fenchurch."

Alex found herself reaching nervously for her glass.

"Go on."

"Took them five minuntes for the back-up to kick in," Gene told her, "normally it would be no bother. But they were in the middle of a fire alarm. Lights went out, guards were moved around and the security cameras went down. Some of the inmates used the distraction to cause an altercation, sorting some dispute. By the time the punch-up was over there were three prisoners unaccounted for. They found one in the kitchens, helping himself to tomorrow's pudding. The second was picked up forty yards from the prison, trying to grab some old biddy's handbag, got clobbered for the trouble." He paused, swallowed and looked Alex in the eye. "The third prisoner is still unaccounted for."

Alex swallowed.

"Who is it?" she whispered

Gene looked down.

"Arthur Layton," he said grimly.

It was funny, Alex thought to herself, how those two words had become so powerful. For a man who was in a mess at the best of times and had failed to achieve the greatness he desired his name brought a sense of fear and darkness to some very strong people. She felt herself weakening and became very glad that she was already seated. She swallowed and blinked a few times, as though she could make herself wake up from a nightmare but nothing happened. Eventually she managed to force out a few words, just enough to convince Gene she wasn't catatonic.

"Layton is loose?" she whispered, her eyes betraying the fear that she tried so hard to keep from her voice.

"_Unaccounted for," _Gene repeated,"he might still crawl out from under the floorboards."

"It isn't likely though, is it Gene?" Alex whispered, "let's face it, given half a chance he's away faster than a greyhound."

Gene looked down. He wanted to give Alex some reassurances but he didn't have any to offer. He knew that there was fear running rife through her bones right then. He couldn't blame her. After everything Layton had put them through he wasn't feeling a hundred percent himself. He watched her as she tried hard to block out the anxiety and the flashbacks. He wished sometimes she was softer on herself. She didn't have to be a rock 24/7. But Alex never had liked to show weakness and as the years passed by she had only become stronger. This wasn't the time to begin falling apart.

"Someone needs to tell Kim and Robin," she said eventually, clearing her throat several times as the anxiety blocked her from talking. She shuddered involuntarily. "We know that Layton's targeted Robin before -"

"And there's no love-loss between your_ other third_ and the man either," Gene said grimly. While they both knew that this was a younger Layton to the one who'd shot Kim and killed Robin in the real world the idea of him on the loose was going to shake them both.

"We'll have to move fast because Kim is -" Alex began but as she craned her neck she could already see the fiat leaving the car park. "Damn, it's too late." she hung her head a little, "she'll be down in Surrey most of the day." She looked back at Gene with a worry-laden stare, "the last time Layton was out, Gene..."

"I know. Batman's not going to like this." 

"It's more than that,"Alex hissed quietly, "you remember what happened? The words he said. Robin -"

"Been back in me station for less than two hours, I'm not letting the stars get to my ceiling yet," Gene told her, "not as conversation I'm ready for."

Alex looked down. If she was honest she wasn't ready either.

"No," she said softly.

Gene closed his eyes.

"You're right though. Batman needs telling."

Alex nodded.

"Let me do it," she said quietly. She looked at Gene. "It'll be better coming from me."

"There's no way to sugar coat this news, Bolly," Gene pointed out.

"No, but there's a tactful way and there's a way that will lead to Kim piercing your backside if she gets back from her case to find Robin in tears from you being _really horrible_ to him," Alex told him, getting to her feet. She took a deep breath and turned to the door. "I think I'd better get it over with," she said quietly, walking away.

"Alex." The sound of Gene using her real name surprised her enough to make her turn around. He looked anxious suddenly. "_You_ alright, Bolly?"

Alex's lips twitched upwards. As scared as she was, for all their sakes, she felt safe with Gene. There was nothing that Layton could do while they were united.

"I will be," she said quietly. She flashed him a little smile. It was just enough to show that – while he might always worry about her – he didn't need to. Alex was stronger than that

~xXx~

_Don't be sick, don't be sick, don't be sick..._

Robin has been repeating that to himself over and over like a mantra for the best part of ten minutes. He wasn't sure where the nausea had come from. He'd felt dodgy from the moment he woke up but thought he could override it until he'd come to sit at his desk and suddenly his insides started ganging up against him.

He swallowed hard and stared at the clock. Shit, he still did that sometimes. Even though the hands never moved ge felt fairly certain it wasn't even near lunchtime let alone the end of the say. The last thing he wanted was to leave early over a bit of a dodgy stomach. He knew there had been a bug going around, but he thought he'd managed to miss that. Maybe it was the chicken chasseur. Maybe it needed another few minutes next time. Ugh, whatever it was it wasn't going away.

"Robin?" a soft knock at the door drew his pale face upwards and he watched Alex enter the room. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

_Don't throw up in front of Alex. Do not throw up in front of Alex._

"Hi," he said quietly. It was about the only word he thought he could safely get out.

"Can we talk?"

That didn't sound good. The look of anxiety on her face didn't look good either.

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly as she closed the door behind her and walked towards him.

"Maybe I should be asking _you_ that question," she commented, "you look very pale."

Robin flinched momentarily as his guts rolled with an audible groan.

"I'm fine," he mumbled.

"You don't look it." 

"You said you wanted to talk to me?" Robin prompted but Alex's expression was full of worry for the state of him.

"I think you should go home," she told him.

"I don't need to go home, I'm fine," Robin tried to protest, taking in a very slow and deep breath to attempt to quell the nausea bubbling in his chest, "Alex, you're worrying me, what's going on?"

Alex hesitated and swallowed. Robin looked terrible, there were no two ways about it, and there was a part of her that wanted to forget all about Layton to make sure he was alright first. She recalled her suspicions about Kim and remembered watching Robin suffering from morning sickness in her place, all those months ago, and she couldn't help but wonder whether history was repeating, but this really wasn't the time to push the point. She sat down in front of his desk and looked at him seriously.

"Robin," she began quietly, "I'm very sorry but we've had some disturbing news There was a breach of security at HMP Fenchurch last night during a power cut. Three prisoners were missing and two have been found but the third," she paused and swallowed as she looked at Robin's pale face. "It's Arthur Layton." Robin's reaction was almost instantaneous, whatever little willpower he;d had left holding back disappeared with the sound of that name and he couldn't stop himself from doing exactly what he'd been trying not to all morning. "Oh _Robin!"_ Alex didn't know whether to be worried or horrified as she jumped up and took a step back, then realised she wasn't being very tactful and hurried around to his side of the desk as he covered his face in embarrassment.

"_Oh god, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,_" he cried, mortified.

"Robin, it's OK," she told him, "come on, you need to go home."

He turned to her, torn between shame and fear.

"Arthur Layton is _loose?_" he whisppered, the words finally sinking in. The look on Alex's face was all he needed to confirm it was true. "Shit, Alex how did it happen?"

"There will be plenty of enquiries into that," Alex assured him, right now, the important part is that we find him. There will be reports going out to everyone, Robin, every officer on the street will be looking for him. Airports, borders... he doesn't have any friends, he's got nowhere to hide."

"What if he's not interested in hiding?" cried Robin, "Alex, he's got it in for me – he set me up, remember? And those words..." his pallor worsened as he recalled Layton repeating the exact same things that his older self had said in the real world moments before he'd shot Robin dead. He felt his stomach lurch again, clutching it with one hand while the other rose to his lips.

"Right, that's it, I'm taking you home," Alex insisted.

"I cant -"

"I'm driving you. No arguments."

Robin wanted to protest. He wanted to say he was fine and didn't need to be driven but as the fear of bumping into Layton tore him up inside he couldn't bring himself to say so. That would have been a lie. Finally he hung his head a little and nodded.

"OK," he whispered. He hesitated as Alex put an arm around his shoulder, "what about Kim?"

"She's heading to Surrey," Alex told him, "I'll tell her the moment she gets back, OK?"

"What if he finds her -"

"He's not going to be heading for a stay in the Surrey Hills, Robin, and as soon as she's back we'll make sure she's fully up to speed," Alex gently but firmly pushed him towards the doorway. "Come on, Robin. Home."

"The _mess," _Robin whimpered, sounding a little pathetic.

"I'll get someone to deal with that," she assured him and Robin hung his head, nodding slowly, letting her escort him from the room. If his stomach felt unsettled before now it felt like a washing machine on a spin cycle. Of all the news to hear, the thought of Layton out on the streets was about the least expected and the one that send fear through his bones. Shards of memories stabbed him in the chest. Dark days he'd tried to put behind him plagued his thoughts and until that greasy-haired cretin was back inside he didn't know how he would ever drive them away.

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: Sorry for a lack of updates this week, we had a skip... yes, exciting! (It was to me anyway!) and we're doing a bunch of home improvements and now I'll sick and exhausted afterwards so give me a few days to get back in the swing of things!**_


	4. Chapter 3: A Tailless Tail

_**A/N: I'm sorry for being quiet at the moment, I'm having a week from hell so I've barely been able to write or edit but the next chapter will be up in the next day or so, and I'll try to catch up with messages as soon as I can. Thanks so much for reading guys, you're awesome, as always :)**_

_**~xXx~**_

**Chapter 3**

Nicol tapped her pencil on the desk as their tutor ran through a number of facts and information, desperately trying not to let her mind wander. _Focus. What's the matter with you? _

"I'll be here Mondays to Thursday," Bobby continued, "on Mondays _and_ Thursdays Carole will be your second tutor, Wednesdays you'll have Adam Arronough and Tuesdays you'll have Patrick."

The horrified groan that came from returning students said just about everything there was to say about Patrick. A strange man they had encountered in their previous year, Patrick wore a green suit, a red bow tie and bore a handlebar moustache. He also knew less about art than _Gene_ did. Tuesdays were not looking like a good day.

"When you begin properly you'll be signing your own attendance off," Bobby continued, pointing to the register on the wall beside the door, "I think we can trust you now, we're all adults here."

Nicol wasn't sure about that, especially since a boy by the name of Richard was seeing how many pencils he could balance on his face before they crashed to the ground.

"When term starts properly next month you'll be expected to attend a minimum of three days a week," Bobby continued, "unless you're on the part-time course which will need you to attend a minimum of three full days a fornight. Any questions?"

A lady named Heather raised her hand.

"Did Carole ever find her handbag?" she asked and Bobby rolled her eyes slightly.

"She looses an average of three handbags a term," she said, "she's never found one yet." she sighed as she looked at the bored students, itching to go back to the rest of their summer holidays. "Alright," she sighed, "now I know this isn't going to be very popular but before you go I'll need you to go to the cultural studies room. There's a detective who needs to speak with you all about a vital matter."

"_The squirrel's back!"_ a student cheered but Bobby shushed him.

"No, this is serious," she admonished "she won't detain you too long, but it's vital that you all go." She tapped the register on the wall. "Sign out before you go and I'll see you in four weeks. Have a great September."

One by one the gathered students rose fro their chairs, muttering and murmuring as they went. Nicol pulled her bag onto her shoulder and sighed.

"Lou, do you want to go to Burger King after the -" she glanced around and found her friend was already halfway to the door as though she didn't exist. "_Lou!" _she gave a growl of frustration. Lou had only said three words to her all day and those were only after five attempts to get her attention. "Am I invisible or something?" Nicol muttered crossly, making her way to the register. It took a moment to get past the gathered crowd and scan the sheet for her name. It wasn't there. Starting to feel like _persona non grata _she hurried toward her tutor. "Bobby? _Bobby!" _her tutor seemed oblivious, more interested on leaving the room. _"Bobby!"_ she tapped her on the shoulder and Bobby finally looked around. She did a strange double take, as though she couldn't even see her momentarily, then seemed to focus.

"Sorry, sorry Nicol," she said.

"Bobby, I'm not on the list," Nicol said in distress.

"Sorry?" 

"The register. I'm not down there."

It took a moment for Bobby to realise what she meant.

"Oh, don't worry, it must just be an oversight," she shrugged, "add yourself to the bottom and they'll print an updated one in September."

Nicol hesitated. Was that _it? _Was it as easy as that? Somehow it didn't feel it..

"OK," she said cautiously, "if that's really all I need to do."

But Bobby seemed already to be zoning out. Nicol stood there, staring around her, all the people passing her by without a glance in her direction. Had she done something? Had she upset them? Were they ignoring here on purpose? She felt for all the world as though she was invisible. She shivered and hurriedly scribbled her name on the bottom of the list. Something felt wrong and whatever it was she wanted to get out of there before it had time to _really_ start worrying her.

~xXx~

Kim stood at the front of the cultural studies room beside Roger, a tutor known more for his poor taste in knitwear than his fascinating lectures. She tapped her fingers against the overhead projector, trying to focus on the task ahead of her. The journey had been draining and her stomach felt unsettled but more than that there as something about the day... or something about the place, she wasn't sure which... that just didn't feel right. She bit her lip momentarily as she stared out at the faces in front of her. The students were just as rowdy as she'd seen them almost two and a half months earlier. She wasn't looking forward to the task of attempting to address them on such a serious matter but there was something else. Something she couldn't put her finger on.

"Alright, that's enough," Roger began, giving his hands one loud clap to get their attention, "I know you want to head away and start the last month of your holidays, it was good of you to spare the time for your initiation today, we won't keep you long. This is DCI Stringer from a branch of CID in London.

"_It's the squirrel keeper!"_ someone called out and mutters and sniggers went up around the room.

"_Where's Nutkin?"_ someone else called out.

"His _name_ was _Tufty," _Kim scowled, "and he's not here." 

"_Why? Is he in the nuthouse?_" a student asked and rowdy laughter came from his peers. Kim took one heavy, booted step forward that echoed around the room, put her hands on her hips, fixed the idiot in a glare that he'd be having nightmares about well into his thirties and gave a raucous, false laugh.

"It's so funny, isn't it?" she cried, "the fact that I'm here again, and even though I'm _sans squirrel_ that's clearly the most important thing on your minds, right?"

"_Yeah,_" one lone, stupid voice piped up as Kim's stare shifted.

"Well I'm really glad to hear that," Kim barked, "because then maybe you'll have something to take your mind off it when one of your best friends ends up lying dead in the woods." A sudden stunned silence began to fall as one by one the students took in those words. Finally it grew so quiet that the only sound was a piece of art falling off an easel in the back of the room. Kim held them in her glare for a suitably severe length of time before she took a slight step back. "Or it might already _be_ one of your best friends," she said, her voice a little quieter, "a young woman of around your age was found dead in woodland not far from here. She'd been sexually assaulted." Shocked faces and fearful mutters came forth from the crowd, the atmosphere suddenly very different. Kim swallowed. However rowdy and rude some of them had been no one deserved to hear that news. "We've been unable to establish a cause of death or identify the body," she finally continued, "so I'm here today to appeal for any information you might have. Is there a friend who suddenly lost contact with you over the summer? Someone you've been unable to get in touch with? Have you heard of something happening, maybe at an end of term party or perhaps there's someone you were worried about before the summer started?"

Watching from the back of the room, Nicol felt a dreadful, dark sensation inside of her that started in the pit of her stomach and expanded, consuming her heart and her chest to a degree that she felt like she could hardly breathe. Her pulse grew so high that she thought she was shaking. She swallowed and took a deep breath trying to calm herself. She didn't understand why she felt that way. Sure, those words had come as a shock but it felt like there was something there, something on the edge of her memory that she couldn't quite access.

She tried to shake off those dark feelings as she watched the detective continue.

"I know this will have come as shock to you today," she began, "and the end of term was a long time ago. You don't have to speak to me now. The contact details for the serious sexual crimes division of Fenchurch East CID will be going up around the college. If you have any information, anything at all that might help us to identify this girl, _call _me. _Talk_ to me. No matter how small or insignificant you think it might be." she hesitated as she watched someone mouthing, _"she's no fun without the squirrel'_. "Because I don't want to come back here to find one of _you_ looking like this," she pulled from her pocket a sheet of information with part of the body showing. That was possibly a little too much for some of the students who gave a horrified gasp and spluttered, while a tutor at the back made a wholly inappropriate comment about the poster having good composition. Kim marched to the notice board and pinned the poster over information about screenwash safety and timetables for the dark room, then turned back to the students. "And for the love of god, stay safe."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then left the room before Roger could unleash his jumper upon her. She loved her work but there wasn't a day that went by where she wasn't reminded how serious her roe was. She only hoped the students had finally seen that for themselves.

~xXx~

Kim's mind travelled across myriad thoughts on the drive back, from the strange nature of the case to the unruly students, to a desperate need to locate the canteen and purchase a late lunch. She'd attempted to visit the refectory at the art college before she left and quickly wished she hadn't. The standard of cuisine made the woman with the big backside look like a Michelin standard chef. By the time they'd slopped up a ladle of mystery meat onto a paper plate that began to integrate with the stew Kim had decided that she couldn't subject her digestive system to that much torture and decided to wait until she returned to Fenchurch. Even the sprouts would be better than that. _Maybe_.

"Even Rob's baked _beans_ would be better than that mystery meat," she mumbled as she pulled into the car park and absently found herself pulling into the wrong space. She froze and frowned at herself. "Wait, that's..." she shook her head as she realised she'd stopped in Gene's spot. What the hell was she _doing?_ He might have scheduled access to Alex into Tuesdays but if he found her in his spot he was going to kill her without a second thought. "I must be delirious through the hunger," she mumbled as she headed to her own space and parked the Fiat.

She'd barely taken two steps into the building when she found Alex there before her.

"Kim," she said quickly, "I've been waiting for you."

Kim took a moment to work out what was happening. She blinked and tried to gather her senses.

"Ma'am," she frowned, "is everything OK?"

"Not really," Alex said anxiously, "I don't want you to worry -"

Instantly Alex's words had the opposite effect.

"Well you're not getting off to a very good start," Kim said worriedly, "what's going on?"

"I took Robin home," Alex began, "he was sick."

"Ill or _sick_-sick?" Kim asked.

"He vomited in his office," Alex said hesitantly, watching Kim's expression grow more concerned with every moment.

"Oh god, poor Rob," she said quickly, "I'd better call him... how bad _was_ he? D'you think I need to go and check on him?"

"Kim, that's not the only thing," Alex placed her hands on Kim's shoulders, trying to give her a little comfort. She sighed softly and looked her in the eye. "I think the news tipped him over the edge."

Instantly Kim's expression darkened.

"What news?" she whispered.

Alex closed her eyes and swallowed, wishing desperately that there was a better way to tell her.

"Kim," she began softly, "there was a power cut last night that led to a security breach at HMP Fenchurch. Arthur Layton remains unaccounted for." she watched Kim's expression slowly fill with pain. "I'm very sorry, Kim. As time goes on it seems increasingly likely that he is out on the streets."

"_Shit,"_ Kim's hand rose to her mouth. She felt for a horrible moment that she was going to tumble to the ground. Her head began to spin and she had to reach toward the wall to steady herself. "Shit, ma'am..." she looked at Alex anxiously, "Layton... he set Rob up, he has it _in_ for him -"

"I know," Alex said quietly, "but everyone is looking for him. He has no friends or allies, he won;t remain at large for long."

"But how do I know Robin's safe?" Kim whispered, the fear gripping her with a stranglehold over her heart.

"Because we're not going to let anything happen to him," Alex said firmly.

"God, I-I need to get to him," Kim stumbled back a little, "make sure he's OK..." she swallowed, "b-but work -"

"I'll cover for you," Alex told her gently and Kim gave Alex a grateful smile.

"Thank you, Ma'am," she whispered.

"Just make sure he's OK," Alex told her and Kim nodded.

"I will, I promise," she whispered and turned on her heels, her heart racing with anxiety. Visions of Layton crossed her mind and she fought hard to repel them. Robin needed her and this wasn't a time for her to show weakness from her own fears.

~xXx~

"_Rob?"_

The sound of Kim's voice was the first time that Robin had felt a sense of security from the moment that Alex had broken the news to him. He turned around, his eyes wide as he saw her.

"Kim," he said quickly, "god, is it that late -"

"No, no, Alex told me what happened," she said softly, "I came home to make sure you were OK." she tiptoed towards him. His skin was pale, his eyes were haunted and he looked like a frightened child. There was a bucket sitting on the floor next to the bed but thankfully it was empty. "Are you still feeling sick?" she asked him gently as she came to sit on the edge of the bed.

"A bit," he said quietly, trying not to show weakness. He looked slightly alarmed as Kim slipped off her boots and began to climb in beside him. "what if I'm contagious?"

"I'll take the risk," she told him gently. He gave a flicker of a smile as she laid by his side and stroked the hair away from his face. It was strange how Kim was the toughest, most daunting person that Robin knew and yet when Robin was ill or distressed she could turn that temperament around and show him the kind of tenderness and understanding that no one else could quite achieve. That combination made Robin feel safe and protected and he moved a little closer, relishing the sensation as her arm reached around him. "Come here," she said quietly.

She knew that with Layton on the loose that they would both find it difficult to think of much else but when they were together, wrapped up in bed, nothing could touch them.


	5. Chapter 4: Feelings Jam

_**A/N: Hi everyone, I'm sorry I haven't been able to update the last few days. We're going through a hard time at the moment and my health has totally crashed in the last few days (plus I lost this chapter so I had to rewrite it) Thanks for your patience, I will hopefully be able to get more on track after this week**_

**~xXx~**

**Chapter 4**

Alex walked tiredly into Gene's office just before five that afternoon.

"Please tell me it's time to go home," she whimpered.

"Blimey, Bolly, you look like the _before_ picture on a vitamin advert," he told her.

"It's not been the greatest of days," Alex sighed. She felt thankful for the sight of Gene getting to his feet and picking up his coat. She just couldn't wait to get home. "Robin didn't take the news very well, as you'd expect."

"Rivers of eyeliner down his ugly mug?" Gene asked but Alex shook her head.

"No, he managed to lose his breakfast," she said, "I took him home. Kim's there with him."

"Well he'll be alright now," Gene tried to reassure her in his own inimitable way, "Layton wouldn't come within a mile of that flat or he'll find himself adorned with so much metal he'll pass as a set of steelworks."

Alex sighed and held the door open for Gene a little unnecessarily.

"Any news?" she asked and Gene shook his head as they left together.

"He's disappeared faster than Evan on a tour of a razor factory," he said, "no firm sightings. Barely any _dodgy_ ones."

"So what are we doing about it?" Alex asked, wondering why further instructions hadn't been forthcoming.

"_We_," Gene began, "are doing nothing, Lady B," he gave a disgruntled sigh, "we're on alert but that's as much as we can do."

Alex frowned.

"Oh?" she asked suspiciously.

"Hanfield CID have been handed this one. Powers that be think we're too close." He didn't look very happy with that decision either.

"We've never been 'too close' _before_," Alex scowled.

"Exactly what I told them, except in less polite terms," Gene told her as they made their way down a staircase, "spoke to Fletcher. Our close personal relationship with Mister Layton's got bugger all to do with it. Some bigwig flexing his muscles. One last big collar for his station before he takes up his place on some throne, ruling over London next week," he shook his head and gave a mocking laugh. "Thinking Layton's a big collar is the biggest joke for a start."

They left the station and walked towards the Aston Martin, both deep in thought; Gene annoyed and frustrated that his team hadn't been given the case they deserved and Alex worried about her two closest friends as well as her own sanity. The sooner Layton was found and put back in his cage the better for everyone. They climbed into the car, leaned back and sighed in unison, then eventually Alex turned to Gene with a tired, distant smile.

"So," she said quietly, "we've survived our first day back."

"Sound like a kid on their first day at school," Gene told her. He gave her a slight nod. "Can picture you in the uniform and all."

Alex's smile grew a little more relaxed.

"No one else is in the mood for a drink so it's you and me tonight, Guv," she told him.

Gene raised an eyebrow.

"Ideal combination," he told her, "anything in mind?"

"I did have _one_ idea." 

"Oh yeah?"

Alex nodded.

"I thought we might take a leaf out of Robin and Kim's book for once."

Gene turned very pale.

"Nothing's going up _there_, even if _you're_ wearing it," he told her firmly and Alex laughed softly.

"Not _that."_

"What then?"

Alex's eyes sparkled. Despite the difficult day they had a perfect evening ahead.

"_Bed,"_ she told him.

There was no part of Gene that disagreed with her plan.

~xXx~

"What's the time?" Robin asked after a long silence. He'd been enjoying the warm, safe feeling of Kim's arms around him so much he hadn't wanted to disturb their position but he knew they'd been there a long time.

Kim strained to see the clock without moving very much from their position.

"Half five," she said, "near enough, anyway."

Robin nodded slightly and pulled her arm a little further around him. He felt so safe and secure like that, wrapped up in her arms. He knew that come morning they'd be back at work and Layton would likely still be on the loose. He didn't want to think about that but it was impossible not to. He heard a series of long rumble of hunger from Kim's stomach, and after politely ignoring the first two to save her blushes he turned his head slightly and told her,

"You must be starving, go and get something to eat.

"I don;t want to leave you," she told him.

"Layton won't get me here, I'm protected by the duvet," Robin told her which made Kim laugh.

"I just don't want to leave you on your own," she said softly.

"Grab something and bring it in here."

"I don't want to bring food in the room while you're feeling sick."

Robin turned around slowly.

"I think I'm starting to feel a bit better now," he told her. In truth he'd started to feel better as soon as Kim had arrived home.

Kim looked him in the eye, still worried by his pale complexion and worried expression. The less time spent apart, the better. She found herself thinking back to the last time Layton had been on the loose, two months earlier, and the strange way he'd reacted when he saw Robin. She hadn't pressed the point with her fiancé because she knew he'd been through a terrible time and the last thing he needed was for Kim to question him about it but something had been bothering her ever since.

"Rob," she said quietly, "I'm so sorry, and I don't want to ask you anything that might make you feel worse, but there's something I really need to know," she swallowed nervously. "When we caught him... Layton... after he set you up," she watched Robin's eyes darken, "he was saying some very strange things and they had a very severe effect on you."

Robin closed his eyes and nodded slowly. She was right, they had. He hadn't felt ready to talk about it with Kim and he wasn't sure he was ready even now but with Layton back on the streets he knew it was unavoidable. He took several deep breaths before he felt ready to talk about it. The nausea came back quite suddenly. Layton had that effect on people.

"The words that he said," he whispered, "I'd heard them before. I don't understand how it was even possible," he closed his eyes and sighed deeply, "but he said them to me the moments before he killed me."

He opened his eyes to find Kim staring at him, confused and questioningly.

"This isn't the same Layton," she began and Robin nodded.

"I know, I know," he said, "It'll be another fourteen years before he fires that gun at me. But somehow he said the same thing, the same words," he shuddered, "and they were chilling enough the first time around." he swallowed, "Kim, he whispered, "he's said similar things... several times now. He says I'm in his head. He says there's a voice telling him to kill me. It makes no _sense_ to me, I don't know why he's focused on me but I'm terrified."

Kim wasn't sire what to say, there was so much to take in. From the idea of thoughts filtering through from the other Layton to the idea that he truly had something against Robin, a feeling of deeper fear settled through her bones. She moved a little closer and stroked back his hair as she looked him in the eye.

"Rob," she whispered, "whatever's happening, whatever anomaly has got Layton in its grasp, it won't have a chance to hurt you because he'll be back behind bars and well away from you. I promise you that."

Robin wasn't sure that he believed it was that simple, and he had a feeling Kim didn't either. That didn't really matter though. Her words and her strength had given Robin a little more of the safety he yearned for and he knew that as long as they were together he would be OK.

Pulling her closer, he closed his eyes and held her tightly. Kim was right about one thing. When they were together nothing could hurt them. He just had to focus on that and trust that Layton would be back behind bars before he could say those words all over again.

~xXx~

The evening was still warm and a little muggy for late august as Simon and Michael walked along to the club. It was funny how a little attention had gone such a long way towards building up Simon's confidence. Instead of walking along half-hunched over, swathed in jumper, he strode by in a trendy purple shirt, gel slicking back his waves. He and Michael talked and smiled and laughed, as though neither had a care in the world, until Michael asked one question that turned Simon's stomach upside down.

"Will you come back to mine after?"

"What?" Simon hated the way he must have sounded. His response wasn't what _Michael_ was hoping for either. Both men stopped walking as Michael turned to him, a slightly pained look in his eye.

"You don't have to," he said quietly, "it's just... You know..." he swallowed, "thought it would be nice... instead of going home alone. You know..." he flinched as he saw a look of panic in Simon's eyes and there was a deep sinking sensation inside of him. "You don't have to," he said, trying to smile, even though it looked extremely strained, "Hey, it was just a thought. Let's just go and have a good night, hmm?"

He tapped Simon lightly on the back and carried on walking, his pace a little more hurried. He just wanted to get into the club and let the dancing and the drink take away his embarrassment. Simon flinched, he knew he'd made another huge mistake. He was good at those. He'd made one by jumping into bed with the guy, now he was making one by _not_ doing it. _Fuck_.

"It's just," he felt flustered, "I'm quite tired, and I've got an early start tomorrow..."

"It's fine," Michael smiled but there was an edge to his voice.

"_Really_," Simon began, "there's this case -" he froze as he realised how stupid that sounded. Of _course_ there was a case, there was _always_ a case. He found himself crushed inside with guilt. What was he doing? Was he leading Michael on? He liked the man, he really did but if he was honest... He stopped himself again. He'd been about to think that he was no Keats. But Keats had burned his final bridges there. It wasn't as though Simon was prepared to wait around any longer. He knew he had to get over Keats. Maybe plunging in head first was the best way? It couldn't be any worse than hurting a really nice man with excuses. He rubbed his chin frantically, trying to clear his thoughts up a little. If he didn't like Michael then why didn't he just tell him straight? Maybe he _did_ like him. Maybe he just wasn't ready to admit to _himself_ that he'd let Keats go. With confused thoughts churning in his head he jogged to catch up with Michael. He wasn't even sure what to say. "I-I have an early start," he began again and Michael closed his eyes.

"I told you, it's fine," he said.

"- so can you make sure you set the alarm for six?" Simon concluded, forcing out the words before he lost his nerve. He dared to look at Michael. There was a little smile of surprise playing on his lips. He seemed to hesitate, unsure whether he'd really heard that right. Eventually he cleared his throat and looked down, smiling a little more widely before he gave a soft laugh.

"I think I can manage that," he said.

Simon's smile was nervous. He still felt unsure but he was determined. He had to get over Keats somehow. He'd started to take little steps towards it. Now it was time for a big jump. He felt Michael putting an arm around him and guiding him towards the club. A few drinks and he felt sure he'd start to loosen up. Tonight was the night.

~xXx~

"Simon!" The fist banging on the door rattled the wood and sent shock-waves through the walls, "_Simon!" _Another round of banging with no one at home to hear. The voice grew more urgent as the fist thumped yet again. It had been doing that for two whole minutes even though no one had answered and no one was going to answer. "Simon, open this fucking door, I need to speak to you! I -" The voice seemed to freeze. It lost so much of its strength and volume as it came back, _"I need you."_

There were a thump as Jim Keats fell back a couple of inches against the door, his eyes wide with the shock of his admission. _Shit_. Where the hell had _that_ come from? What part of him was even _speaking? _The man or the monster? With a terrible shudder he realised that both sides were in agreement. The turbulent thoughts playing perpetually through his tortured mind were torturing him and he needed Simon in every conceivable way.

There was a bump as he slid to the ground and his backside made contact with the floor. He flinched momentarily. The physical pain came as a blissful distraction from the one radiating through his chest as he realised Simon wasn't there. He didn't just mean in a physical sense.

_My bridges have burnt._

He stared at the floor in seven shades of sorrow for as long as the man would let him. Then, like a switch flipping, the monster grasped him by his lapels, dragged him back to the feet and sent him out on a mission of fury, kicking every door, wall, car and plant pot in a fifty mile radius. Without Simon, Keats had no one.

Even monsters need somewhere to turn.

~xXx~

Simon stared despondently at the cool white linen in front of him as he picked a tiny bit of lint from in, focusing on anything and everything to take away his attention from his anger and his humiliation as he felt Michael's comforting hand against his shoulder.

"_It's alright,"_ he began and Simon closed his eyes, gritting his teeth as he begged him silently not to say it._ Do not say it. Do not say the next part._ "It happens to _every_ man sometime."

_He said it. He fucking said it._

Simon gave an involuntary growl of frustration, his fingers closing hard around the sheet, his fist shaking as he swallowed.

"_Not to me,"_ he growled.

"You _said_ you were tired, Michael reminded him, "I shouldn't have asked you back here when you needed sleep."

"You don't have to do this," Simon closed his eyes, his face flushing with shame, "I've fucked everything up. I'm sorry.

"You've not fucked _anything_ up," Michael told him but there was a note of disappointment in his voice that Simon couldn't bear.

"_I'm sorry,"_ he mumbled, wishing the bed would swallow him or a helicopter would crash through the ceiling to cause a distraction.

"Don't be sorry," he could feel the pressure on the bed changing as Michael got to his feet, "We've been dancing all night. We're both shattered. Get some sleep."

"_Like I'm going to be able to do that instead of replaying the last twenty minutes time and again," _Simon mumbled.

"I'm going for a piss," Michael told him.

Simon didn't even look around as Michael left the room. He suspected '_going for a piss' _was a polite way of saying '_dealing with himself'._ And why _shouldn't_ he? He was beyond frustrated. Simon had known he wanted him. He could see the hunger in Michael's eye all night. But there was nothing stirring at all, no matter what Michael tried to do. Even though Simon offered to take a more _hands on _approach there was no fun for Michael in that when all he could see was Simon's _floppy disk._

"_Fuck,"_ Simon gasped furiously as he crashed back against the bed. He stared at the ceiing, his face burning with shame. He'd never... well, it was the first time he'd failed to perform, put it that way. In fact, he usually had the opposite issue. The trouser tent graffiti still adorning the toilet walls was testament to how eager his appendage usually was to do just that.

In all the years he'd been with Robin never once had he failed to react. A kiss, a touch, even a _look_ and there it was. And as for Keats, he only had to breathe the same _air_ as Simon and he was as stiff as a board. He gave an involuntary moan as he recalled the first time that being near Keats had such a powerful effect on him. _That night, _that one night where the man has crept out and begged for Simon to make him human. Begged for _more_ than that.

"Oh _hell_ no," Simon cringed as he found himself reacting to the memory. He peered under the sheets. Well there was no mistaking _that_. "Where the hell were _you_ fifteen minutes ago?" he hissed angrily to his erection.

He could hear the flushing of the toilet and the running of the tap. Michael was on his way back. _Shit_. Simon turned his back to the door and pulled the covers over him, hiding away the evidence. He closed his eyes tightly, feigning sleep. He was fairly certain Michael knew he was faking, but he didn't care.

He'd had all the humiliation he could take for one night.


	6. Chapter 5: Tortured Tea Break

**Chapter 5**

Alex smiled to herself as she watched Simon stepping out of a blue car with an unfamiliar man. So Michael wasn't just a figment of his imagination. _Good_, she thought. Simon had been unhappy for so long, it was about time. However he didn't seem to be brimming over with joy, she had to admit. She bit her lip as she watched them walk towards the building.

"_It really doesn't matter,_" she heard the new boy saying as she tried to fall into step with Simon.

"_Can we just forget it?"_ Simon mumbled awkwardly, "look, I've... I've got to get going." she saw him turn to Michael, "I'll see you tonight, yeah?"

She watched them exchange a very chaste, awkward kiss before Michael departed towards uniform and Simon continued in the direction of CID. She jogged a couple of steps to catch up to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Simon."

He jumped a little and glanced behind him.

"Alex," he said, "sorry, I was miles away.

"I can imagine your thoughts were elsewhere," Alex smirked a little, her glance following Michael.

"It's not like that," Simon said quietly.

"I didn't say anything," Alex protested innocently.

"But you were thinking it," Simon said awkwardly.

They embarked on the stairwell together.

"Simon, please don't feel awkward about it," Alex told him, "everyone's happy you've found a lovely boyfriend at last."

"He's not my boyfriend," Simon sighed.

"Arriving together first thing in the morning suggests otherwise," Alex told him and Simon felt himself turning a vibrant shade of red.

"Nothing happened last night," he said, "literally nothing happened. I crashed out at a friend's."

"Then why are you protesting so much?"

"Maybe because I don't want everyone getting the wrong idea?" Simon sighed as they passed his office door. "Look, he's a friend that's all," he closed his eyes for a moment. "I'll see you later."

Alex watched him in confusion as he disappeared into his office. So much for the big romance. Maybe there really _wasn't_ that much to it? She would just have to keep an eye on that situation.

~xXx~

Robin knocked very quietly on the bathroom door and waited but he didn't receive a reply. He knocked again and cleared his throat.

"Kim?" he said quietly. Still nothing. "Kim? Are you OK?" Eventually, concerned for her he opened the door a crack and peered in to see Kim's pale face hovering over the toilet bowl. "Oh Kim," he sighed sadly as he walked across to her., "I'm so sorry. I knew I was bloody contagious." 

"It's not your fault," Kim said quietly, "with my luck I'd probably have caught it even if I'd quarantined myself for a week."

"You look awful," Robin blurted before he could stop himself.

"Thank you," Kim mumbled, "the toilet isn't that fussy about appearances luckily."

Robin knelt beside her, softly rubbing her shoulders.

"What can I do to help?" he asked as she looked for all the world as though she was about to spew again at any moment. She flinched and swallowed, waiting a moment.

"Call work," she whispered.

"Already on it," Robin said quietly. He kissed the top of her head and got to his feet, "and then I'm putting you back to bed."

"Might not be for a while," Kim whispered, desperately hoping she wasn't going to have to stare at the toilet bowl all day.

"I'll be here," Robin told her.

"What about work?" she asked.

Robin was half-dressed, his work shirt already covering his inked torso. He'\d felt much better by the previous evening and intended to go back to work but he couldn't leave Kim while she was sick. Especially not since it was his fault.

"You know," he said, "I think I might be suffering a relapse." He held his hand dramatically over his forehead which made Kim smile. Whether the threat was a loose Layton or a nasty virus they were both alright as long as they were together.

~xXx~

Marci sat at her desk, crossing Is and dotting Ts. _Shit_. Wrong way round. She scribbled out a word she could hardly read and told herself to concentrate.

She'd been back at work for two weeks after her self-imposed period of time away and a long, slow and painful process of tapering down the tablets she'd found herself hooked on. She was proud of herself, she really was. She'd made a plan and she'd stuck to it. She'd promised Shaz that she would do it, she'd promised Jake that she'd be her old self again and more that that she'd promised _herself_ that she wasn't going to become yet another statistic; a drug addict found dead on the street.

It was her first pill-free day. There was a slight sense of discomfort throughout her body, some aches and pains she couldn't quite pinpoint, a slightly sick feeling and a restlessness that never seemed to leave her, but she was fully functioning and pill-free. Shaz was proud of her. She was proud of herself.

But..

But yet there was still that little voice in the back of her head. The physical craving was fading. But there was little she could do about the voice that reminded her how good she felt when she'd downed a few pills.

"_Shut up,"_ she muttered to herself, angrily crossing out another mistake. The sound of someone clearing their throat made her jump and she glanced up to see Simon in the doorway. She scrambled upright and pretended she hadn't just been assaulting her paperwork as she began, "Sir? Is everything alright?"

Simon gave a half smile but it faded away.

"Not really," he admitted, "no."

Marci looked around anxiousy.

"Is it the Layton case?" she asked and Simon shook his head.

"No," he said, "it's personal."

"Oh," Marci waited but he didn't go on. She bit her lip. "Did you want to talk about it?"

Simon glanced around at Bammo who was wondering if he could fill a water balloon before Simon left.

"No," he sighed eventually, "that's alright." 

"Are you sure?"

Simon wasn't sure. He swallowed. He didn't like confiding in people, at least people he wasn't that close to. But his usual confidantes were not people he could talk to about this. He hung in the doorway for a moment before he swallowed.

"Don't suppose you'd like a cup of tea?" he asked feebly.

Marci gave him a slightly sad smile. She wasn't the only one with issues.

"Always," she said, getting to her feet.

~xXx~

Alex sorted absently through the sheets of paper left on her desk overnight. There was a letter or two, a report from the canteen about sprout rustlers in the area and a sheet of information about Layton's disappearance. She was about to skim the details when the phone rang on her desk and she reached out with a sigh to answer the call.

"DCI Drake?" she began, hesitating and rolling her eyes, "_Hunt_." she flinched. _That_ was too confusing. "_Alex_ Hunt," damnit, how the hell was she supposed to answer her calls when it took three attempts to get it right?

"_Alex?"_

"Robin?" she frowned, "are you still sick?"

"_No,_" Robin sounded anxious, "_it's Kim. She's caught it."_

Alex closed her eyes and sighed sadly.

"Oh no," she groaned, "how is she?"

"_I'd ask her but she's got her head down the toilet bowl."_

Alex cringed.

"You've been living with her too long," she sighed. A glance at the calendar on her desk saddened her. "_Ohh,_ and it's tuesday too."

"_I know,"_ Robin began, "_Kim's really sorry."_

"It's not her fault," Alex said a little disappointedly.

"_I knew she should have stayed away from me," _Robin told her, _"I was so worried I'd give it to her."_

"Robin, I think you've given her _something_ but I don't think it's a bug," Alex began but wasn't sure this was a good time to probe. She hesitated. "when you and Kim are back I need to speak to you both. But for today," she sighed, "just look after her. OK?"

"_Of course,"_ Robin told her, "_Thanks, Alex. Bye."_

Alex sighed as she hung up. That was enough prying into the private lives of her colleagues for one day. She picked up the sheet of information about Layton once again. _"All information pertaining to the current whereabouts oif missing prisoner Arthur Layton are to be reported directly to Mister Jason Redlake, __Deputy Chief Constable__for Hadfield police station prior to his upcoming appointment as commissioner for the City of London Police."_

"If I have any information I'll be reporting it closer to _home_, thank you _very_ much," Alex told the memo, scrunching it up and tossing it into the bin.

~xXx~

"One lump to two?"

Simon sighed as he sank into a grimy seat and watched Marci by the kettle.

"Two," he said despondent;y, "and can I have my tea with coffee instead of tea?"

Marci smiled and rolled her eyes at Simon over her shoulder.

"Why not just go to Latte Land?" she said, "with your _coffee drinker of the week_ accolade you'll pay peanuts."

"It wasn't really the drink I needed," Simon admitted as Marci switched on the kettle, she took a seat by his side and folded her arms, looking at him curiously.

"So," she began, "what _were_ you interested in?"

"you know that listening ear you offered me once?" Simon looked vaguely pathetic as Marci nodded, "is there any chance of reprising that?"

Marci smiled.

"Always."

Simon smile thinly. Even though he didn't know her well it was a relief to see the old Marci coming back. Her personality changes had been a shock to everyone.

"Do you remember what I told you last time?" he asked.

"Your mystery man," Marci nodded, "the one no one would approve of." She watched Simon nodding. "I take it that wasn't Michael?"

Simon gave an ironic laugh.

"No," he said quietly, "no it wasn't. No, my _mystery man_ is... he's," his voice hitched, "_off the scene._ For good."

"I'm sorry," Marci said quietly.

"You're in the minority there," Simon said a little bitterly, "no one _else_ is. Or would be. _If_ they knew."

Marci hesitated, not sure where this was going.

"And Michael?" she prompted.

Simon gave a slightly false smile and breathed out heavily.

"Michael," he repeated, "well. He's the complete opposite, isn't he? He's open and loving, he's funny, he's intelligent, he's patient and understanding... My best friend loves him, my ex _boyfriend_ loves him, all my _friends_ love him." He closed his eyes as his head sank into his hands. "So why don't I?"

Marci hesitated. She looked a Simon's deflated posture, shrinking away as his problem took his strength and energy. She shuffled forward a little and finally asked him,

"How do you feel about him then?"

Simon gave a shrug. He knew that wasn't an answer, he just didn't know what else to say. Eventually he looked up a little.

"I really like him," he said truthfully, "I feel relaxed with him, I like his company. He's a good looking guy."

"Yeah, I know that much, I _have_ got a pair of eyes," Marci teased and Simon gave a half-hearted laugh.

"Maybe _you_ should have him then."

"I think my life's complicated enough," Marci half-mumbled to herself. She sighed and tried to focus on Simon as the kettle clicked off. "So you like him as a friend?"

"Of course."

"Then maybe you need to tell him that, before you _both_ get hurt."

"_Sometimes_ I think I like him more," Simon told her, "and I try... I try to think of him in those terms. Boyfriend. _Partner_." he looked down, "it's not like we didn't..."

"The squirty cream incident?" Marci blurted before she could stop herself, "_oops_."

"How the hell did you -" Simon's mouth fell open.

"Um, I think Jake told me," she bit her lip.

"How did _he_ know?"

"Maybe Chief Inspector Thomas told him?" Marci shrugged awkwardly, "I mean, it's not like it's a secret." 

"It's _not?"_

"Not if the graffiti in the toilets is anything to go by."

"_Oh god!_" Simon leapt to his feet and covered his ears, "shit, I don't _believe_ it." he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He needed to calm down. He turned back to Marci as she stood up to finish the drinks. He supposed it was too late for denials now. "Yeah," he sighed eventually, "I suppose... the night we met, we had a thing." 

"A squirty thing," Marci let her mouth run away with her and bit her lip guiltily.

"Yes," Simon scowled, "_that_," he flopped back down in his chair, shaking his head. "It was one night, I was lonely, we both just wanted something... _uncomplicated_."

"Then how did it get to you asking me to make you a cup of tea?" Marci asked quietly.

Simon leaned back and sighed.

"Because I really do like him," he told her, "I like his company, I like talking to him, I like... _him_."

Marci stirred the mugs and sat one down in front of Simon.

"You're said the word 'like' a lot," she said.

Simon nodded.

"I know," he said quietly.

"'_Like'_ covers a multitude of sins," Marci pointed out.

Simon nodded again.

"I know." 

"I like Shaz," Marci began, "but then, I like my aunty's cat. Like has a lot of meanings."

Simon nodded. Marci had the measure of him.

"It does."

Marci bit her lip.

"And your mystery man," she began quietly, watching Simon;s cheeks redden, "do you still, 'like' _him?"_

Simon closed his eyes.

"Funnily enough," he began quietly, "I'm not sure _like_ is a word I could ever use for him." He hung his head. "_Want. Need._" there was another word which began with an _L_ he could think of but he wasn't going to say it out loud.

"Then maybe just _liking_ Michael isn't enough," Marci said quietly.

Simon swallowed.

"He... the other man... he's off the scene."

"So you said."

"So it doesn't matter what I want. I won't get it."

"Doesn't mean you should settle."

Marci's advice sent a little shiver down Simon's spine, a whisker away from the words he'd offered Kim, all that time ago. _Don't settle. _Why was he so bad at taking his own advice?

"Maybe I need more time," Simon whispered, "maybe I just need to get over him. I do really like Michael. Maybe I... I _like_-like him.." But he flinched as he recalled his shame from the night before.

"Then," Marci began, "maybe you just need to take things slow and stop trying to rush them. If you and Michael are meant to be then it'll happen in its own time. And if not..." she gave a little shrug and picked up her mug, "then maybe that other man will find his way back into the picture."

Simon shook his head.

"He's gone."

"Then don't be so hard on yourself," Marci told him.

Simon cringed.

"Did you have to use the _H_ word?" he mumbled.

"Just relax and get to know Michael in your own time. If he cares about you he'll wait until you're ready to take things further."

Simon looked down and nodded. He _had_ waited, he was as patient as anything. It had been Simon who'd pushed it the night before, as disappointed as Michael may have been he didn't push Simon in the slightest. Simon had tried to hurry himself. Maybe deep down he really _did_ want to take things further? Maybe he just wasn't prepared.

"Thanks, Marci," he picked up his mug as he got to his feet, "you're so easy to talk to."

Marci gave a half smile and a shrug.

"Any time," she promised.

Simon hesitated, his mind going back to Michael, how understanding he'd been when Simon had failed to _deliver the goods._ Keats was gone. He had to move on. He just needed to prepare himself a little better, that was all. And he knew what he had to do. He walked to the door, sipping his drink on the way and spitting it back out franticly

"_Ugh!" _He cried "Marci, what's this?"

"It's your requested tea-coffee combo," Marci told him and Simon gagged.

"Ugh, you were right, next time I'll stick to Latte Land!" he cried. He hesitated by the door and glanced back. "You... you won't mention this to Michael?" he asked, "or anyone?"

Marci shook her head.

"Of course not," she whispered. Her smile and her friendly ear masked the gnawing inside her, a craving for something she couldn't give in to. Not after she'd come this far. There was a pain inside her as she added quietly, "we all have secrets."


	7. Chapter 6: The Best Laid Plans

_**A/N: Hello everyone. I'm so sorry for the lack of updates, my whole family's been sick for the past week. Things should be getting more on track now. I hope you enjoy this chapter :)**_

**~xXx~**

**Chapter 6**

It seemed strange for Robin to be pulling up alone in the car park. While Kim seemed to be much better he'd insisted on her taking another day to recuperate, forcing her to stay home under the guise of health rules about taking 48 hours off after a vomiting virus. He knew she wouldn't stay at home for any other reason and he was worried about her. He hadn't seen her that sick in a really long time.

He noticed Michael and Simon arriving together as he stepped out of the car. Neither of them seemed very happy and Simon looked pale.

"_I told you, it's fine,_" he heard Michael say softly, a hand on Simon's shoulder.

"_Can we stop talking about it please?" _Simon begged before he clutched his stomach, did a silly little shuffle and rushed into the building with his legs as close together as possible.

"_Will you call me later to at least let me know if you're OK?" _Michael called after him but Simon seemed out of earshot. He glanced around awkwardly as Robin caught up to him and gave a slight wave. "Morning, sir," he said.

Robin couldn't help being nosey.

"Everything alright?" he asked.

Michael shuffled towards uniform.

"Fine, sir, I'll see you at work shortly."

Robin pulled a curious face as he watched him leave. He pulled his jacket around him as he felt hunger pangs stirring. _Shit_, why did he decide to skip breakfast? Work was going to have to wait for a short time. There were two things he has to do first; one was sating his hunger, the other was sating his curiosity.

Alex and Gene arrived just in time to see Robin rushing inside the building and Gene mumbled under his breath.

"Oh look, Chief Inspector Vom-mas is back."

"_Gene!" A_lex hissed in horror, "don't call him that. Poor Robin." She unfastened her seatbelt and gave Gene a stern glare. "He already felt bad enough about his _incident_."

"Not as bad as the bloody cleaner felt after cleaning it up," Gene told her and Alex sighed as she opened the car door.

"Be nice, Gene, he's not been well."

"I'll don me nurse's uniform," Gene mumbled as they stepped out of the car.

~xXx~

"Excuse me... _Excuse_ me... _Oi!"_

Robin stopped in his tracks and spun around at the last angry shout from the voice behind the counter.

"Yes?" he asked, his heart racing as her yell made him jump.

"Can't take that out."

"Sorry?"

"The plate," The large-bottomed lady told him, "all china stays in the canteen."

"I'm just going to eat this at my desk," Robin frowned, contemplating the serving of beans on his pate.

"Can't let you have the china," the woman insisted.

"I'm a chief _inspector!" _Robin protested, "I think I can manage to use a plate!"

"Don't let them leave the canteen any more," she told him, "not after that idiot from CID started his plate-spinning routine."

*I'm not even _in_ CID!" Robin protested, "and I won't let Bammo anywhere _near_ it!"

"Sorry. Eat here or the beans go in the bin."

Robin's eyes glistened with tears as he stared at her. _Unbelievable_. Her attitude was completely unbelievable.

"Why are you being so _horrible_ to me?" he demanded as a ladle twotted him around the head, "_Shit!"_ he cried as he clung to the lump that suddenly appeared.

"_The plate stays here!"_

Robin narrowed his eyes at the woman. He was going to find a way around this. Nothing came between Robin and his beaked beans. _Nothing_.

~xXx~

"Hey you."

Simon glanced up as he heard Robin's voice in the doorway.

"Hey," he said quietly, "how are you feeling?"

"Well I _was_ feeling better," Robin rubbed the lump on the side of his head, "but I think I might be getting a migraine now." he paused, "can I come in?"

Simon frowned and shrugged a little.

"Well, yeah," he said, unsure why Robin was even asking. He glanced at the large Styrofoam cup in Robin's hand. "Don't let Gene see you with that, he'll demand to know where _his_ is." 

"Yeah, I don't think Gene's going to want one of these," Robin said sheepishly.

"Why?" frowned Simon, "what is it? Cappuccino?" he saw an eerie orange glow emanating from the cup and gave a slightly horrified yelp, "Oh _god!_" he clutched his stomach, "what kind of sick-arsed coffee is _that?"_ he grimaced as Robin sat closer. "Rob, do you _have_ to eat those right next to me?"

Robin looked anxious.

"Have you caught the bug too?" he asked, "are you feeling sick?"

"No," Simon shook his head but he still looked off-colour.

Robin tried to act casual as he watched Simon moving papers around on his desk.

"Do you want any help?" he asked as he knocked his beans flying and orange sphericals landed on some paperwork, "_Oops..."_

"Robin!" Simon cried.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Robin cried, quickly attempting to round them up.

"There's sauce all over my _papers_ now!" Simon cried.

"I _said_ I was sorry!" Robin protested, "It's only a few baked beans!"

"That's going to be on your epitaph if you keep on this way," Simon told him crossly, mopping up the sauce as Robin stared at him.

"You're being really mean today," he said pitifully and Simon rolled his eyes.

"I'm _not! _You're just more sensitive than that bloody soap they advertise with the paint on the lily!"

"I am not!"

"And apparently you argue like a five year old!"

Robin stared at Simon, aghast.

"_Well,"_ he pouted indignantly, "something's eating you. What is it?"

"Nothing," Simon mumbled,

"Well something clearly is." Robin waited, hoping that Simon might open up about whatever was getting to him but he remained silent. "Is it Michael?" he chanced and caught a slightly pained look on Simon's face.

"No," he mumbled, "why would it be?"

"Because you hurtled away from him like you were going for a spot in the British olympic team," Robin pointed out.

Simon's face started to heat up.

"I wasn't running away from him," he cried, "well... technically I was... I just needed the toilet, that's all."

Robin hesitated.

"Oh shit, you _have_ got the bug as well."

Simon shook his head.

"No," he mumbled but he did look awfully pale and his stomach was making some seriously suspicious noises. Robin hesitated. Simon wasn't himself, _whatever_ was wrong.

"You can talk to me you know," he said, almost sadly, wondering why Simon wasn't doing just that, "_whatever's_ wrong."

Simon pretended to be very busy shuffling papers.

"I'm fine, Rob," he said quietly.

"It wouldn't be weird," he tried, "if you wanted to talk about Michael. Not for me, at least."

Simon looked up, every part of him ready to protest that nothing was wrong again but at the last minute his expression crumpled a little.

"Well it's weird for _me."_

"So it _is_ Michael?"

Simon shrugged.

"Yeah," he said quiet;y.

"Have you had a fight?"

Simon shook his head.

"No," he said, "because Michael _wouldn't_ fight because Michael's _perfect_."

Robin frowned.

"OK, Simon, you need to tell me what's going on because this isn't the Simon _I_ know talking."

Simon stared at his desk with a half-hearted shrug. His cheeks were burning up with shame and he felt torn between needing to spill his worries and never wanting to talk about the last two nights again. He notices that Robin's expression was growing more anxious by the moment and finally he knew he couldn't keep it to himself any more.

"I've," his voice hitched, "_had a problem._ With Michael."

"I thought you said you hadn't had a fight?" 

"Not that type of problem." he flinched. How was he supposed to say it? _Oh god,_ that brought back bad memories, to the night that Gene had come to confide in Simon about failing to be an upstanding citizen. _Shit_. Suddenly his euphemisms didn't seem to pointless. "I'm not... I couldn't..." he closed his eyes. "What's that Catatonia song?"

Robin frowned.

"Michael got Road Rage?"

"No! the other one!" Simon shook his head, "it's not out until next year."

"I hope you don't mean that Tom Jones one," Robin frowned but then his memory sparked. _"Dead From the_ ..." his eyes widened as Simon hung his head, "..._Waist Down,"_ he concluded. The look on Simon's face said it all. To both their horrors a ting snigger escaped Robin's lips and Simon turned to him accusingly.

"_Thanks for nothing!"_

"I'm sorry, Si, I'm really, _really_ sorry!"

"I thought you of _all_ people would understand!" Simon cried.

"Why?" frowned Robin, "it's not a problem I have."

"Yeah, so I've read in the toilets." Simon mumbled, turning Robin's face read.

"It's not a problem _you_ usually have_ either!"_ Robin pointed out.

"I _know_ that!"

"In fact, according to what's written in one of the cubicles you usually have the _opposite_ problem -

"That's enough about my bloody trouser tents!" Simon hissed in shame. He closed his eyes and shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Forget I spoke."

"Oh, come on, Simon.," Robin said quietly, "I'm sorry, I'm _really_ sorry I laughed, it just took me by surprise, that's all." he bit his lip as he watched Simon pretending to work. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Simon shook his head.

"Not particularly.

"You did five minutes ago." 

"Yeah, and then you turned into a laughing hyena and I decided against it."

"I Said I was sorry!" Robin protested. He looked at Simon worriedly. "are you OK, Si?"

Simon shrugged. He wasn't, if he was honest.

"No one ever died from impotence," he mumbled, "did they?" 

"It's not exactly impotence," Rob in told him, "I mean, one time..."

"_Two_," Simon closed his eyes.

Robin bit his lip, hesitating.

"Pardon." 

Simon's face was redder than Jupiter's spot.

"It's happened twice," He mumbled, "It happened on Monday and again last night."

Robin stared at him, not sure what to say. He distracted himself by prodding at his beans with a fork before finally saying,

"Well... I know it's a cliché... but it happens to -"

"-_ Every man,_ yeah, so _he_ said," Simon glowered.

"You're probably tired," Robin told him.

"Never stopped me in the past."

"Or stressed," Robin gave a little shrug, "And I know sex is a big deal to you, Simon. I understand that, you know we always felt the same about that. Maybe you just weren't ready."

"I didn't seem to have any difficulty when I had a chest covered with squirty cream," Simon muttered.

"Then maybe you were too worked up about it," Robin told him, "had you been planning it?"

"What?"

"The last two nights?" Robin asked, "sorry if I'm prying..."

Simon shook his head.

"You're not prying," he said, "and..." he closed his eyes. "not _planning_... exactly... _expecting_. Knew it was going to happen."

"Maybe hat's the problem," Robin said quietly., "remember us? Our first time?" he watched a little smile spread over Simon's face. "Neither of us expected it to happen, it just did. And by the sound of it when you..." he coughed, "_with the squirty cream.._. it sounds like it was the last thing you'd been expecting."

-Simon nodded.

"Yeah," he said quietly.

"You're a planner, Si, always have been," Robin told him, "but sometimes you need to be spontaneous. Maybe you were thinking about it too much."

"Maybe," Simon sighed despondently. It was true, as soon as he knew he was going back to Michael's on Monday night it was all he'd thought about. Then the previous night he'd been prepared and it _still_ hadn't happened. "You're right. You really are. I was trying too hard." he closed his eyes and sighed. "Last night... after what happened the night before... I had a -" he hesitated, "_back-up plan. _And it still didn't work." 

"Back up plan?" Robin frowned.

Simon stared at his desk, his cheeks aflame.

"I," he coughed, "_took something."_

Robin's eyes widened.

"_Drugs?"_ he whispered, horrified.

"Not exactly," Simon swallowed. He reluctantly glanced at Robin. "Viagra."

"_Viagra?"_ Robin cried, much to Simon's horror.

"Do you want to say that a little louder?" he cried, "only I think there was a pimp down in custody who didn't quite hear!"

"Sorry," Robin protested, "it's just... I didn't expect..." he frowned, "how did you even get the doctor to prescribe it? It's only been out here for a few months, hasn't it?"

Simon looked away.

"I didn't get them from the doctor," he mumbled.

"Where did you get them then?" Robin frowned.

"I got them off Bammo."

"_Bammo?"_ Robin didn't know whether to laugh or cry, "What the _hell_ did you do that for?"

"I was _desperate!"_ Simon hissed, "I wanted to prove to Michael that I wasn't..." he swallowed, "a _flop_ in bed." he scowled. "I might as well have thrown them in a wishing well and begged the penis genie to bestow me with an erection for all the good they did."

"Where the hell did _Bammo_ get viagra from?" Robin cried.

"He had a friend who had some..." Simon coughed, "_issues_."

"How many did he give you?" Robin frowned.

"He didn't... _give_ them... to me," Simon mumbled, "I gave him a healthy donation."

Robin leaned back and sighed.

"Oh Simon," he said a little sadly.

Simon picked at his fingernails.

"Four," he mumbled eventually.

Robin frowned.

"Hmm?"

"He sold me four," Simon concluded with a sigh. "I took two of them. Bugger-all happened."

"Where are the others?" Robin asked and Simon reached into hos pocket, pulling out a couple of little blue tablets. Robin took them with a frown. They didn't look like the pictures he'd seen on the TV or in newspapers, that was for sure. He squinted at them a little closer and his eyes widened.

"Simon, that's not viagra," he closed his eyes, "he's given you _laxatives_."

"_What?"_ Simon cried, grabbing them back and scrutinizing them. He felt his ears starting to heat up with fury. "The _bastard!"_

"When did you take them?" Robin asked.

"Ten o'clock last night," Simon mumbled. He froze with a glower. "_Fuck_, that's why I've been in the toilet since half six this morning."

Robin closed his eyes and pressed his hand to his forehead involuntarily. It was all he could do not to laugh. He knew it wasn't funny for Simon but he couldn't understand how he'd been so stupid. Eventually he shook his head.

"Simon," he said quietly, "look, if it's none of my business then I understand. But I _know_ you. And this... _all_ of it..." he shook his head. "the pills, the – _problems_, the stressing out about it..." he looked simon in the eye. "This doesn't seem like you." He hesitated. "Is something else wrong?"

Simon hesitated.

"My _joy department_ is out of order and my guts sound like the soundtrack of a horror movie, what could _possibly_ be the matter?"

"I mean apart from that." Robin hesitated. "You and Michael... are things... _alright?_ I mean aside from... bedroom issues?"

Simon stared at Robin. He wanted to tell him everything was fine. He also wanted to tell him that he was as confused as he'd ever been. But somehow he couldn't bring himself to do either. Eventually he gave Robin a wobbly smile amd nodded.

"Everything's fine, Rob," he said quietly, "Or it will be. When I've killed Bammo."

Robin gave Simon a concerned smile. He knew better than to push it until Simon was ready to talk, whatever was going on. Eventually he nodded and got to his feet, picking up his cup of beans.

"Well," he said, "you know where I will be if you change your mind."

"Where you'll _bean_, more like," Simon commented and they exchanged a fond smile before Robin took his breakfast away leaving Simon alone with his thoughts.

Simon stared at his desk for the longest time, not even really thinking about anything. He couldn't. He'd done enough thinking/. It was getting him nowhere. He needed to think abut something else, _anything_ apart from Michael and Keats. Not that he'd been thinking about Keats'. No, of course he hadn't. Keats hadn't even featured in his thoughts. Not in the slightest.

He shook his head and tried to stop thinking about not thinking about Keats. This was just getting stupid. He returned to shuffling papers on his desk, lifting up one memo that caught his eye.

___"All information pertaining to the current whereabouts of missing prisoner Arthur Layton..." __he mumbled as he read, ____"blah blah... Jason Redlake, Deputy Chief Constablefor Hadfield police station..."_ He stared at the memo with a frown. A small picture of the man in question seemed to spark a memory in Simon's mind but nothing followed it. "That face is familiar," he mumbled, but he couldn't place it. He shrugged and threw the sheet to one side. He needed to get on with some work of his own. Yet somehow in the recesses of his mind there was a little spark of knowledge that wouldn't go away. Something about that photograph made him shudder, like he'd seen the face before.

Whatever it was, he shrugged it to the background along with his shame, his worry and his desire to get extremely painful revenge on Bammo that would probably involve borrowing heavily from Kim's piercing kit.


	8. Chapter 7: Unplanned Destination

_**A/N: So much for getting back on track, so sorry guys, I've had an eye infection and haven't been able to do any typing for a few days. Thanks for your patience, and thank you so much for the reviews and messages, they're greatly appreciated! Charlotte, I will PM you tomorrow :)**_

**~xXx~**

**Chapter 7**

"Not happy about this, Bolly, not happy at all," Gene drew the blinds around his office and sat on the edge of his desk, legs apart, "I've been happier on a guided tour of a welding factory."

"What's happened?" Alex asked worriedly. She knew something was amiss from the way Gene appeared in her office, demanding a word in the manner he usually saved for Simon. The dark look on Gene's face only went to confirm that things weren't right.

"Arthur Layton," he began and Alex felt the hairs beginning to stand on end across the base of her neck.

"What about him?" she asked grimly.

"For someone resembling an overgrown playground pusher with a dandruff problem he's becoming far too much of a status symbol."

"What do you mean?" Alex asked uneasily.

"This tosser taking up the big chair in the city," Gene began, "apparently we're not allowed to breath the word Layton without it going through him, signed in triplicate."

Alex nodded.

"I noticed the memo yesterday," She told him, "it seemed a bit -"

"Like a pile of steaming arse droppings?"

"_Pushy,"_ Alex continued.

"Well it gets worse," Gene told her. He flicked on the TV in the corner of his office and after a few moments warning up the face Alex had seen on the memo stared back from it, a severe expression on his face.

"_...would like to assure the public that I personally am on the trail of this man. My track record speaks for itself. Wherever he is, he will find himself back in prison before this week is out. I want you to know your city is in safe hands, both today as the net closes in on Mister Layton, and a week from now when I will be taking my new role, looking after the police who keep you safe."_

Gene turned the TV off, pulling a face of disgust.

"Can't take any more of that," he mumbled, "or I'm in danger of doing a Batman."

"I agree, it was very -

"Vomit inducing?"

"_Nauseating,_" Alex cringed, "but... aside from making Robin hate you for making '_doing a batman'_ into a usable phrase, what more can we do?"

"We can stick two finger up in the general direction of his smug mug and ignore his Layton-based demands."

"In what way ignore them?"

"Might not be in a generous mood," Gene shrugged, "might not want to share."

"I take it we're not talking about the bag of cookies you got from Latte Land," she asked.

"Not unless they're fortune cookies with Arthur Layton's whereabouts hidden inside them," Gene told her. He folded his arms and dropped his voice. "Wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if we sat on any information we get."

"Or take action that leads to someone... _Simon_ presumably... sitting on Mister Layton and dragging him back inside," Alex supposed.

Gene nodded.

"Correct, Bolly."

Alex nodded.

"I don't disagree with you, Gene," she told him, "you know that. But that memo's gone station-wide. It's probably gone city-wide."

"Nothing's wider than the arse on the woman in the canteen and if I can navigate my way past that then I can get round this too," Gene told her.

Alex nodded slowly.

"I have a discrete snout who might know something," she began.

"As long as his sleeves aren't coated with six layers of snot, get onto him," Gene told her.

"Right away, Guv," Alex felt energised as she left Gene's office and set off to take action. Neither had been happy with the strange situation and they'd both known the chances of them complying with the instructions were slim. It was just a case of who was going to take action first.

~xXx~

"How are you feeling?"

Simon cringed as he heard Michael's voice in the doorway and looked up sheepishly.

"Better," he mumbled.

"Good." Michael hung back awkwardly. He couldn't tell who felt more uncomfortable, him or Simon. It felt as though neither of them could bring themselves to speak for a very long time until Michael eventually cleared his throat. "there's a theme night at the club tonight," he began, "If you fancied it."

Simon felt a terrible churning in his guts and this time it had nothing to do with anything he'd purchased from Bammo.

"Michael -" he began, feeling himself cringing as he spoke but Michael cut him off.

"Just clubbing, that's all," he said quickly, "no going back to my flat, no going back to yours, just a drink and a dance, OK?"

Simon hesitated, torn in so many directions for so many different reasons. He closed his eyes for a moment and began to stutter,

"A-about last night and -"

Michael shook his head vehemently.

"Just forget about it," he said.

"I'm trying, it's not that easy.

"I tried to move things on too fast, and I'm sorry," Michael said quietly, hoping no one was listening . He knew how fast things appeared on he toilet walls. "I'm a bit..." he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, "new to this," he said quietly. He looked pained. "Relationships. I've always been more of a..." he shrugged, "well, never got serious with anyone."

Simon stared at him.

"Serious?" he looked like a scared rabbit caught in the headlights of a truck that was about to introduce him to a new career as roadkill.

"I've never settled down," Michael told him, "not to anywhere, not to any one. I've travelled. Worked all different jobs. Moved all over the place. Met loads of different people, no one ever really stuck around. Now..." he sighed, "I suppose I'm growing up. Putting down roots. Got my flat, my new job... not just a job, a career." he looked at Simon and his next two words just about killed Simon with guilt. "And you."

_Shit._

_Shit shit shit shit shit._

"Michael," Simon began, "I..." he didn't even know how to continue that. He did like Michael. He truly did. But words like 'relationship' and 'serious' – _shit_.

Maybe they just had different definitions for 'serious', he wondered. If Michael had spent his life flitting around the way he explained then this probably was a serious relationship by comparison, where as Simon had spent most of his adult life in a relationship with Robin

"Let's just go out and have fun," Michael said quietly, "I'm having a crap day. I could just do with a drink and a dance."

Simon hesitated, not wanting to make his crap day worse.

"Sorry, Michael," he said, "what's happened?"

Michael let out how breath.

"Oh, you know," he sighed, "dog ate my truncheon. Dog ate my lunch. Dog ate my shoe. Pretty much a normal day, to be honest, just got me down a bit more than usual."

Simon gave a little smile.

"Theme night, you said?" he began. Michael nodded. "What's the theme?"

"Eighties night."

Simon closed his eyes and laughed softly. Irony of all ironies. He couldn't believe it. Eventually he nodded.

"Fine," he said, "Yes, OK. Let's go."

Michael's face finally seemed to brighten.

"Excellent!"

"I'll warn you though," Simon began, "I don't make quite as convincing an Adam Ant as I used to."

~xXx~

There he was, every day.

On the news. In the papers. Everywhere he turned.

Keats hadn't seen that face in very many years. Then, almost three years earlier he'd seen it on a tape in a hospital room. And now he couldn't escape it.,

Older. Heavier. More wrinkles. Little bit of grey hair. Cosmetic differences. His face was the same.

"I never had justice," he hissed as he stared at the television set where the face was talking again, "I never had a chance... why did they never..." he glared at the face, "why didn't _you_..." he could feel a level of rage building up inside of him that he wasn't sure how to deal with. The man wanted to cry and the monster wanted revenge, and somewhere in the middle was a desperate anguish that drew from both sides and exploded with an angry outburst in the direction of the television set, knocking it backwards from its rickety cabinet, sending it crashing to the hard floor with a thump and a crackle as the screen went black and the face vanished.

Keats stood panting, his sight unfocused, his mind screaming words that were almost inaudible. He felt frozen, he felt trapped, he had nowhere to turn and he was almost split in two. _Man or monster? Man or monster? _He clung to his head as both sides raged and faught.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up,_ shut up!"_ he cried, throwing himself against the wall. The sudden pain that ran through his shoulder brought him a blessed moment of lucidity as reality filtered through but it lasted only seconds before the two sides took back over, leaving whoever Jim Keats truly was as their unwilling battle ground.

He had to get out. He had to start walking and just keep going, otherwise he had no idea what the man _or_ the monster could do. He could destroy the city, or he could destroy himself. And somewhere deep inside there was a voice that told him he couldn't let either happen.

_Get walking, Jim. Keep walking. And don't stop._

~xXx~

_This is not where you need to be walking to, Jim._

_Of all places, this is not the one you should be at._

Keats pulled his coat around his shoulders as he hovered around beside the back entrance of Fenchurch East. He wasn't sure how he ended up there_. Keep walking_ was a good plan. Unfortunately his feet had a stopping point planned.

He turned around and stared up the road to Simon's window, then back at the station. Why the hell was he _there_ of all places?

He knew the answer to that of course, but the answer was as ridiculous as the canteen serving sprouts in late August.

Even though it was still technically summer the sun was absent from the sky that day and a slight nip in the air was present. Even so, Keats shouldn't have needed his coat. Months of barely eating and sleeping had worn away at his reserves of health and energy and he had little strength left for keeping warm.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do now?" he asked. No one replied. People passed him by as though he wasn't there, as though he was invisible. He almost wished he _was_, he wished he could vanish into the ether. That way everything wouldn't hurt so much.

Another stab to the chest came when out of the corner of his eye he saw Simon leaving the building, a uniformed officer running across the car park to catch him, handing him some sort of ticket and offering a peck on the cheek that put a fire of fury in the pit of Keats's stomach that even caught the monster by surprise.

Keats watched in silent rage as the uniformed man walked through the gates, hands in pockets, and passed him by without a second thought. His head turned and followed him, glowering, shaking until he was almost out of sight. Who the fuck was _that? _Deep down he knew he recognised the face. He'd seen him before, four and a half weeks earlier, leaving the pub with Simon.

Four and a half weeks ago. A lot could happen in that time. Maybe too much.

"_Shit,"_ with a gasp of panic Keats realised that Simon couldn't be far behind. He frantically paced away fro the station and ducked into a gateway, breathing heavily, and sure enough just a moment later Simon walked past on the short trip to his flat. The slight scent of aftershave in the air as Simon passed him by sent a shiver through his limbs that Keats couldn't blame on the cold. He closed his eyes, torn between so many emotions he couldn't process.

_Fuck_. It's _them_ again. The emotions. _Shit_.

_This is bad. I need to start walking again. I need to keep walking._

So he started walking. And he _kept_ walking.

Unfortunately he kept walking in a circle and ending up back at Simon's flat until, after the sixteenth or seventeenth go around, he happened to catch the sight of Simon stepping out of his door for a night on the town.

That was the moment that Keats knew no amount of walking could escape the battle going on inside of his mind. As he followed _the one who'd got away,_ all that time ago, he had a final destination at last.


	9. Chapter 8: Shoebury Showdown

_**A/N: thank you for bearing with my slow output, I apparently have infections in my chest, sinuses and eyes so no wonder I've been so unwell :P (I also have horrible giant antibiotics, ugh) Hopefully I will be able to get into writing at a more appropriate pace again soon, and thank you for reading **_

**~xXx~**

**Chapter 8**

"Thought you were coming in costume."

"Yeah, well, even Robin couldn't lend me enough make up for that," Simon said loudly above the 80s dance music pumping out of the club at full volume..

Michael laughed and Simon did the same. it was nice. _Natural_. it wasn't pressured and awkward like the last two nights had been. Maybe they'd cleared a little air that day. Maybe Simon had resolved to be easier on himself. Or maybe it was the two large scotches he'd downed before he even went out that night.

He gave Michael a quick kiss, and it felt OK. _Natural_. Not forced or awkward. Good. _Great_. That was something.

_Just here to have fun. Just here to have a laugh and a dance. That's all._

Michael put his arm around Simon as the bouncer waved them through and it made Simon smile. Maybe this was a breakthrough. Maybe they really _were_ turning a corner.

~xXx~

He'd matched Simon step for step, all the way; first to Michael's, then to the club, just keeping far enough from his target that Simon didn't spot him. That in itself was enough to make Keats's blood boil. All those times he'd seen Simon turn around, all the times he'd had to jump into an alleyway or a shop door to escape his eye. Like he had a sixth sense, Simon always knew he was there.

"_Not any more,_" Keats's voice was broken and gravelly as he growled to himself.

He was angry, angry with everyone. Angry with the world. Angry with Simon. Mostly though he was angry with himself. _Now_ what was he supposed to do? He'd followed Simon all the way there. What _was_ he going to do? Force his way in the club, waltz up to Simon and say, 'm_ay I have this dance'?_

Well of _course_ not. He was going to stand there brooding away angrily, walking in circles, mentally going into meltdown because he didn't know what else to do. He had defence mechanisms. Back when he was at his most powerful he had so many at his fingertips. He could just secure the things he didn't want to think about in their own little compartment in the back of his mind and not have to worry about them.

But that was then. And after he'd lost that the only escape he had was Simon. And now it was Simon he needed the escape from he had nowhere to turn.

So he stomped and he screamed and he growled and he kicked but nothing made him feel any better.

His rage was growing.

~xXx~

The music boomed and the dance floor throbbed with bodies swaying and moving with people losing their inhibitions and letting the moment take them away. Simon found himself in the middle of them, eyes closed, moving like he was a teenager again with the drink and the beat and the memory-provoking music letting him slip away into a haze of freedom and energy and just letting go, for once in his goddamned life.

And he swayed and he turned and he threw his arms to the air;

And he smiled and he laughed and when Michael's lips came close he kissed them right back.

~x~

In the dark near-autumn evening Keats felt the darkness suffocating him like a cloak. The chatter of the people passing by was like static interference he couldn't get out of his head. The anger that flowed through his veins sent him in furious circles and he couldn't make it stop.

And he paced and he spun and he kicked the walls and lamp posts;

And he grimaced and he growled, and as images of Simon played through his mind he felt a throbbing pain in his chest like he'd never felt in his life.

~x~

And they danced and they moved and their arms closed around one another;

And they kissed and they touched and the little voice in Simon's head that told him it was wrong found itself drowned out by emotive music and an overwhelming sense of living fr the moment.

~x~

And he cried and he screamed and he scratched at his own skin with frustration;

And as Keats's fury built up still further he ignored the little voice inside his head that told him the real reason for his anger and focused it on Simon instead.

He'd always been the one that got away, but now he meant that in a wholly different sense.

~X~

And they danced closer and closer, and the time went faster and faster, and their smiles grew broader and finally when the night came to an end and it was time to say goodbye Simon's thoughts didn't wander for a moment to the dark haired, bespectacled man who haunted them day after day and night after night.

As they left the club, the music beating through their ears, Simon felt his cheeks flush as he turned to Michael. He caught his hand briefly in his own, a smile across his lips.

"See you tomorrow?" he asked.

Michael nodded, pulling Simon forward a shade.

"Tomorrow," he repeated, reaching out to pull Simon towards, him, cupping the back of his head gently as he kissed his lips. It wasn't for several seconds that he let Simon go. Simon stepped back a little, trying not to smile too broadly.

"_Tomorrow_," he reiterated and turned around with a little wave over his shoulder. His heart was pounding. Wait, was _that_ it? Was that the spark he'd been waiting for? _Hoping_ for? Was he finally on his way to forgetting -

"_Oh Simon."_

That voice.

_That fucking voice._

Simon froze, his eyes widened and his head snapped around at the sound of slow applause.

"_Keats_," his voice was laden with confusion and shock as he stood still, staring at the figure stepping out of the shadows towards him.

"What a performance," he said, a strained smile on his face, seeping with malice, "quite the little romantic ending to the night. _Tomorrow_," he mocked, "funny how you're happy to see him tomorrow but not the rest of tonight."

Simon started to tremble in a way that surprised him. He swallowed and stared at Keats, trying not to show how his sudden arrival had shaken him. It was strange but those words, the sound of his voice... it was a little as though the monster had returned. But in Keats's eyes, in his expression, in the way he stood... he seemed weak and empty, almost crumbling in front of Simon.

"It's no business of yours _when_ I see him," he found himself speaking up, even though there was a voice inside his head telling him to simply walk away, "him, or _anyone_. I warned you," he swallowed, "I told you, if you walked away from me one more time that would be it. And you did. In fact, you _ran_. So that was that." Simon very slowly turned. "Excuse me. I think I'll take the scenic walk home."

Keats felt something he wasn't used to but had been feeling more often lately and he didn't like it. It was the feel of fear; the fear of Simon walking away. His nerve slipping for a moment, he ran a pace or two and tried to block Simon's path. He shook his head and stared a Simon with what he thought was a sneer, and on any other day it _would_ have been a sneer, but somehow it had no power. It was more of a pained frown.

"So you'll take him out but not take him _home_," Keats sighed and tutted, "dear oh dear, Simon, what _is_ that you've picked up anyway? Robbing the cradle? He's... how much younger than you? Got to be a decade at least." He stepped forward and looked Simon in the eye, watching as Simon swallowed. That should have felt like a victory. Any other time it _would_ have been. But not this time. Not when Keats was doing the same. He hoped that Simon hadn't noticed. "I thought you liked _men_, Simon, not boys barely out of short trousers."

Simon stared at Keats. His mind was the only thing racing faster than his heart. For one thing he had no idea what Keats was doing there, or _why_ for that matter., For another Simon genuinely thought he'd never see him again after he'd run from outside the pub. Keats's face had been the last one he'd expected to see. There was a part of Simon that wanted to tell him to get lost and leave before he could say anything more to twist the knife in his own inimitable way. But there was another part of him that wasn't going to let him do that.

"And what is it that _you_ like?" Simon was shocked by the bluntness of his own voice as he stared back, "Hmm?" he looked around, hoping they weren't going to gain an audience, "between the tongue down my throat followed by the vehement denial that you like kissing men you seem to be a bit unclear on that one."

Keats's eye twitched violently. Simon had never seen anything like it before. His whole head seemed to move to the side as he frantically worked to stop it. He glowered at Simon, desperately willing the monster to burst through and do the talking for him but the monster seemed to be taking a back seat at the wrong moment. So, for that matter, did the man. His mouth opened. He tried several times to speak but nothing came out. He tried to reach for a witty comeback but none seemed to exist. He tried to ask Simon who the other man was, but couldn't bring himself to do it.

Simon wasn't sure he'd ever seen Keats so silent. Even at times when the man has started to come forth he would stumble and stutter a few words but nothing was coming, just a fixed stare that Simon couldn't quite escape. He swallowed as he prepared to continue.

"All you want... all you _ever_ wanted... is sex," he took a deep breath, "isn't it? That's what everything comes down to with you. You don't give a fuck who the person attached to the sexual organs is." he shook his head angrily, suddenly al the hurt and anger for the times Keats had used him came forth. "I told you. No more. It's over." he hung his head a little and began to walk away. "_Goodbye_."

Simon felt his heart thumping in time with his feet. _Stomp, stomp, stomp_. He could scarcely believe the way he'd spoken to Keats. _That's it. Keep your head down. Keep walking_. He'd managed to get several paces beyond Keats when he heard his voice.

"I don't try to tell me you didn't want it too." Simon almost hesitated but he carried on walking. _Just keep moving. Ignore those words_. "I seem to remember you being an enthusiastic participant." Keats felt his anger growing as Simon kept on walking. "_Oi!"_ he cried. He wasn't used to being ignored and he didn't know how to deal with it. Quite suddenly he found himself chasing after Simon, not even sure what to say when he caught up with him, "_don't walk away from me!"_ He grabbed the back of Simon's shirt and Simon spun around, spitting with fury.

"Get your hands _off_ me!" he hissed, shoving Keats backwards which dealt a greater blow mentally than physically. Keats's eyes were fixed upon him, shocked, angry, hurt. These were not emotions he was used to. They were not emotions he knew how to cope with. All at once a thousand thoughts flew into his mind, words that he tried to scream at Simon with fury and bile, a thousand different insults to cut him down to size, bring him down to his knees, slay _him_ with words. But as he opened his mouth to speak those thousand insults all left him and finally the only thing he could croak out was,

"_Who is he?"_

Simon stared back, panting from the overwhelming sense of anger running through his veins. He found himself shaking his head a little, confused.

"What?" he breathed.

"_Him,"_ Keats screamed. arms flailing vaguely in the direction he'd seen Michael depart. He stared at Simon. Simon hadn't seen anger like that since Keats's day in court, after the human side had burst out and ruined everything. He could feel his own fury burning, spurred on by the look in Keats's eye.

"Who's _he?"_ Simon cried, "you don't even know who _you_ are! Why do you want to know abou -"

"Who _is_ he?" Keats repeated, his tone even more strained.

Simon stared. He glared. He glowered. He breathed in, trying desperately to make himself walk away but somehow he couldn't.

"His name's Michael," he said. His voice was lower, calm, measured. He took another deep breath as he watched Keats staring back at him. "He works in uniform, in the canine division. He's twenty five, since you seem so bothered... that's the same age _Kim_ was when you were so determined to prise your way into her underpants," he took a step forward, reading an instance of nervousness on Keats's face, "We met five weeks ago. He's kind and he's funny and he's easy to talk to, he doesn't have a cupboard full of skeletons and hang-ups, he's loving and patient and kind, and bloody good looking too," he watched Keats falling away before his eyes a little more with every word while his own voice and urgency increased, "my friends fucking love him. _Everyone_ fucking loves him. He's the best thing that's happened to me from the moment I arrived here," there was the tiniest hint of hesitation before the truth burst forth with a ferocity that Simon had never anticipated, "and yet here I am, fucking it all up and on the verge of throwing it all away because I'm still hung up over_ you!"_

The words escaped like emotional bile flowing from his tormented soul. He stood breathlessly, panting, staring angrily at Keats, scarcely able to believe he'd let those words slip out after all the barriers he'd put up around them, not even acknowledging them inside of his own mind. As he looked at Keats he couldn't tell which of the two of them had been more shocked. Keats' expression morphed and swirled between pain and delight in a way that made Simon shiver more with fear than anything.

Still struggling to get back his breath, Simon watched as Keats straightened up and a part of him won through that Simon hadn't seen in a long time. Unfortunately it wasn't the part he so desperately yearned to see . The menacing glower that spread across Keats's face and the sudden step he took towards Simon sent his blood cold.

"Then," He found himself slipping into ways he hadn't adopted in so long, "it might be your lucky night."

But as Simon stared at him, recognising the malice in his eyes, he shook his head feeling sick to his stomach.

"No, it's not," he growled, shoving Keats to one side and pacing away as a shocked Keats stared after him, taking a moment to gather himself.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Simon?" he demanded, confused beyond all comprehension. Keats found himself chasing after him, an action that was abhorrent to his nature but one he found he couldn't fight, "you don't walk away from me!" But simon just ignored him and Keats's anger rose to a level he had rarely known. He grasped Simon's shoulder and spun him around but Simon reacted fast, angrily tearing Keats's hands away.

"_Get off me," _he spat as Keats stared on.

"What's the matter, Simon?" Keats sneered but there was an edge to his voice, "iI thought this was what you wanted."

"_Not like this,"_ Simon began to walk in the other direction and nurturing a growing sense of panic Keats turned and chased after him, running into his path.

"No?" he challenged, "how _do_ you want it then?" he nodded to one side. "Up against that wall? Back at your flat? Maybe go back in the club, find a nice cosy toilet cubicle."

"How about none of the above?" Simon cried, shoving Keats away with a kind of strength Keats didn't know he possessed. He gave a confused laugh.

"I know you want me, Simon," he tried, desperate for a reaction but the one he got wasn't the one he expected.

"Not _this_ 'you'," Simon whispered, turning once again. He didn't care what route he took home, only that he needed to outrun the man who wouldn't leave him be. There was a fury burning deep in Keats's soul and he gave chase once again, grasping Simon's arm, batted away in a moment.

"Simon! You want me!" he cried, scared by the word he was spouting and the rate his heart was thumping "Don't you even try to fucking deny it."

"I want the _human_ you!" Simon's eyes blazed as he spun around, screaming desperately, "but I don't know where he's gone." Keats had never seen Simon look at him with such disgust, such anger. He breathed heavily. "so much for making you human. All you ever wanted was sex and blackmail!" Keats opened his mouth to launch a comeback but it seemed to jam in his throat. Caught between the fury he felt at Simon's rejection and his desperation to drown out the little voice in the back of his mind urging him to _be_ that human he found himself unable to talk and all the words and emotions that he fought so hard to keep away swirled around him, manifesting themselves in a roaring flame that flowed around him, like a sudden forest fire. Simon took one look at the impossible inferno., the manifestation of the devil, and shook his head vehemently, turning and walking away at speed. "Fuck this," he mumbled leaving Keats to stare after him.

"You do not walk away from _me_, Simon!" he cried, "Simon! Do you hear me?" His heart beat so fast that he could barely hear his own screams over the sound of it thumping. _"Simon!"_

But as the object of his unexpected and resented desire disappeared and the flames enclosed around him he could do little but sink to his knees and stare, paralysed by a pain he wasn't used to and emotions that he couldn't control. By the time the flames died out the surroundings remained untouched but his heart and his soul had been gutted beyond belief.


	10. Chapter 9: Broadcast Intrusion

**CHAPTER 9**

Kim tied to keep her eyes on the road as some non-melodic late nineties pop act warbled out whatever passed for music from the radio.

"I hate going back after being off sick," she mumbled, "reminds me of being at school."

"Think Gene's been saving up all your homework?" Robin teased.

"I think he's been saving up all his _insults_," Kim told him, "two days of them. _Shit_." she shook her head. "I might just go back to bed."

"if you're going then I'm coming with you," Robin told her.

The day had a very strange feel to it. At least, Kim thought it did. Robin hadn't said anything. Maybe it was all in her mind but it felt like one of those days where life could just change beyond all recognition in the blink of an eye. She hated that feeling. She didn't know where it came from, but she sure as hell didn't like it.

She was shaken from her thoughts by _B*Witched_ blaring out as Robin turned the radio up.

"What the hell are you turning _that_ up for?" she cried.

"Your stomach's drowning out the radio!" Robin protested and Kim felt her cheeks redden.

"I've not eaten for two days," she protested.

"You had toast _and_ cornflakes this morning!" Robin reminded her.

" I'm catching up," she mumbled, desperately trying to think of a different subject. The crackle of static that cut into the bland pop on the radio gave her a distraction. "Couldn't you at least tune it in properly if you're going to turn it up?"

"Sorry?" Robin frowned.

"It keeps going crackly."

Robin hesitated.

"I hadn't noticed."

Kim glanced at him.

"Haven't you?" she frowned. Robin shrugged and Kim turned back to the road. Maybe it was just her imagination. Great, _more_ things that were just in her head. She sighed internally, annoyed when more static filled the car. "You can't have missed _that_ -" she began but stopped talking abruptly as in the middle of _C'est La Vie _a line came spectacularly out of place;

"_And I feel like we're breaking up, and I wanted to stay -"_

That line provoked an immediate reaction from Kim, her foot slamming hard onto the brake as her eyes bolted and her brow gained a sudden dusting of perspiration as Robin turned to her in horror.

"Kim? What the hell's wrong?"

Kim turned to him, staring, aghast.

"You didn't hear it?"

"Hear what?"

Kim's mouth remained open as she stared at Robin, then at the radio as the bleak pop dirge continued where it had left off, and then finally back at Robin. He hadn't heard it, he hadn't heard a thing. What the hell was the _matter_ with her? She swallowed hard. It had to have been in her head. She must have been having a flashback, or just remembered it unexpectedly, that was all. Nothing else made sense. She swallowed hard and shook her head.

"Nothing," she said quietly, "Nothing, I'm sorry -"

"Kim," Robin looked at her anxiously, "Kim, you're shaking." 

Kim swallowed and stared at her hands. He was right, she was. She blinked several times and tried to shake herself from her stupor.

"Sorry... sorry, Rob," she took a deep breath, "I-I'm feeling a bit weird. A bit shaky. Must be lack of food the last two days." she unclipped her seatbelt. "C-can you take over?"

Robin stared at her. There was a sudden feeling of anxiety in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't shake, but very slowly he nodded and unfastened his own belt.

"Of course," he said, "of course I can. No problem." 

He watched Kim carefully every step of the way as she climbed out the car and swapped to the passenger side. He didn't like the dark look that had taken over her expression and he didn't like not knowing what was causing it. All he could do for now was to make sure she knew he was there for her, and get them to work in one piece.

~xXx~

Keats didn't remember how he got back to the hostel, he only remembered being thrown out for the damage he'd caused to his TV set.

He didn't remember walking to Fenchurch East, he just remembered leaving again as he saw Michael from a distance and almost threw up on the path.

He didn't remember walking into town, he only remembered staring at the myriad TV screens in the window of Dixons as the thoughts screaming through his head reached fever pitch after a night in which they had racked every part of his mind and body with pain.

The pain as Simon disappeared from his sight was physical, mental and emotional, as he felt something happening that he didn't think was possible. His heart, such as it was, _broke_ right there and then. What the hell was _that?_ Where had it even _come_ from? He detested himself for even acknowledging it, let alone letting it happen. His mind replayed every moment of that one night, over two years ago; the only one to try helping him, the only one who wanted to bring forth the human side, the man who tended to his wounds and gave him the first willing kiss he'd ever been given in his life. It had always been there, bubbling under; the tension between himself and Simon, from the moment they'd met it was always going to go one way or the other. Either they were going to kill each other or take it to the bedroom, and since they'd killed each other once already there was only one way left for it to go.

But Keats didn't _do_ emotions. He didn't _do_ yearning and wanting and lo- _words beginning with L _that he couldn't even _think_, much less say, All he did was sex; sex for pleasure, for blackmail, for whatever he wanted. Sex was his currency.

Then how come he couldn't stop himself from wanting Simon, not for anything other than the thought of being with him?

_Fuck_, he did not _do_ love. He _didn't!_

Although -

Although there _was_ a precedent for it.

A young blonde girl, full of ink and metal, the girl he couldn't leave alone even when she had outlived her usefulness in his schemes. _Fuck_, he'd weaved his spell and got inside her head, it was all part of the plan, so how had she managed to get inside of_ his? _Fire burned in his chest as he thought about her; _Kim_, the only person he'd ever loved.

The only person until now.

And who had her?

His fucking nerdy gay half _brother! That's_ who!

The _perfect_ one. The one who he never knew shared half of his DNA, not until one smashed photo frame and an old picture revealed the truth that could have stayed hidden forever. He felt violently sick as he recalled that moment; that awful, twisted instant of discovery, the man who'd given him nothing but DNA had also fathered _that man_, the one who he hated more than he'd ever hated anyone, even Gene. And why? Because Robin was the first... the only one ever to smite his 'assistance'. The only one ever to refuse to play the game. And worse than that, he had everything. _Everything!_

He had the respect and the glory, the kind of career that Keats had yearned for when instead he spent his life as a pen pusher on both sides of the line, only taking his role at Fenchurch West through sheer force of darkness. Robin was popular, respected, loved and admired; with his good looks and his muscles he turned almost every head in the station. Even the woman with the big backside slipped him extra baked beans now and then. What did Keats have? Spectacles that were decades out of date and unmanageable hair. Robin had everything, and now he had the woman Keats had wanted – and he'd had the man he wanted first.

_The man he wanted?!_

Shit, where the hell had _that_ thought come from?

He growled with fury at his own admission and thrust his hands to his head as he felt himself on the verge of self destruction. He couldn't keep it in, all the anguish and the fury; the regrets, the resentment, the envy, the frustration and the explosive anger as he thought about everything he could have had if only his life had been different, if only he could have had the chance to live a full and happy life as a whole person instead of losing himself to the darkness and the monster and the years ruled by a desire for revenge, and the years lost to days staring at hospital walls all thanks to one night, one botched raid, one man, one man whose thirst for a collar destroyed a young copper's future.

One man whose face appeared simultaneously on the myriad screens before his eyes at the very worst possible moment and brought the man, the monster and anything that was left of Jim Keats to breaking point as mists descended over his vision and his mind, forcing his body into the store where twenty more televisions pumped out the same image, the same news report, the same face mouthing silently about the hunt for Layton as customers _ummed_ and _ahhed_ about whether to get a 14 or a 21 inch set.

"It was my_ life!" _he screamed at the top of his lungs, "It was _my life _he ruined!" he panted and he drooled and he could barely get the breath back into his lungs as he screamed, _"and I never had justice!"_

There is no force stronger than fury, and as he reached out for the fire extinguisher on the wall and smashed it into the first screen before him he knew he'd barely even begun. It wouldn't make up for the dark hatred he felt for the man on the screens but it would be a start

And the _next_ time, he told himself, the damage he caused would be against his flesh instead.


	11. Chapter 10: Kick the Bucket

_**A/N: I'm so sorry for the week's gap in updates. My laptop broke down last week with the next two chapters on, I've had to pull it apart and get them off the hard drive, also life is really stressful right now so please bear with me, I'm not going anywhere but updates will be slower than usual through october. Thank you for sticking with me xx Also, Lucy, it's *that* chapter at last :P**_

**~xXx~**

**Chapter 10**

"Kim?"

Kim glanced behind her as Alex peered through her office door.

"Ma'am, hi," she said quickly, feeling her cheeks flush a little. She bit her lip as she tried not to smile. "Sorry, I was just about to go to the canteen. Would you like anything?"

"A word before you go, actually," Alex said with a slightly strained smile, "if that's OK?"

Kim hesitated. There was a little look in Alex's eye that worried her.

"Of course," she said quietly, "is everything OK?"

"Nothing tragic looming on the horizon as far as we're aware," Alex said, "but the Guv and I thought you should be brought up to speed with Layton's disappearance."

The shudder that travelled down Kim's spine as she heard those words was almost visible to Alex. She bit her lip and swallowed, trying desperately not to show she was shaken by that notion.

"Has, um," she cleared her throat, "has there been any news?"

"No, no news," Alex told her, "just a decision. By us."

Kim hesitated, frowning in confusion. She was about to ask what Alex meant but realised that was most likely the point behind the meeting and just nodded.

"Alright," she said quietly. She gave a little sigh as she followed Alex through to CID, muttering under her breath that the canteen had better not sell out of cookies while she was indisposed, and also, that the ones remaining had better not be green.

~xXx~

"Oh," Robin looked around in surprise as Alex led Kim into Gene's office and closed the door and blinds behind them, "what's going on?"

Kim glanced at Robin and gave a little shrug.

"No idea," she said quietly, "something about Layton?"

"Yes, everyone's least favourite dinner party guest," Gene sighed as he thumped his feet up on his desk. Alex walked towards him and stood by his side, looking a little anxious as she began;

"Gene and I took a decision yesterday. We thought that you should be brought up to speed." She turned to him and stepped back, waiting for him to deliver news of their decision to Robin and Kim. Gene sighed, took his feet from the desk, disappeared under it and returned with a bucket which he plonked on the desk with a loud clatter. Robin and Kim shrieked in unison with a kind of high-pitched panic that usually only came from Simon.

"What the hell's _that_ for?" Robin yelled.

"Put that away!" Kim cried as Gene stared at them both as though they'd lost the plot.

"I'm not having any more piles of puke lining my corridors," he told them, "this is just a precautionary measure."

"You... It's a sick bucket?" Kim looked somewhat annoyed.

"It was _supposed_ to be but I'll be knocking it over yer heads in a minute to knock some sense into you! Two senior members of my station having a screaming fit over a bloody bucket?"

Kim and Robin exchanged a glance and Kim narrowed her eyes slightly.

"Yes," She said with a slightly suspicious note ion her voice, "why were you freaking out over a bucket?"

"_You_ freaked out too," Robin accused.

"It made me _jump_, that's all," Kim said, feeling flustered.

"Bleeding hell, if I'd know it was going to cause this much trouble I'd have stuck with the piles of _puke!"_ Gene barked, putting the bucket back under his desk. He shook his head and muttered things about loony bins and brain transplants before he addressed them again. "Your friend and mine," he began, "Mister Layton."

The dark look that overtook their faces was heartbreaking to see. Instinctively Kim reached out to take Robin's hand and he glanced at her gratefully.

"Is there news?" he asked shakily.

"Not yet," Alex told them, "but you'll both know about the policy on this case."

Kim nodded.

"Rob told me," she said quietly, "all reports go to some other station."

"Some idiot with a head as big as the arse of the woman in our canteen," Gene told them, "thinks he can get himself an easy collar as his swan song. Only thing is," Gene flexed his fingers and cracked his knuckles, "I'm not very good at taking orders from tosspots."

"Gene and I have decided to adopt a _what he doesn't know won't get him any glory_ policy on this one," Alex told them softly, "please ask your departments to report any developments to you and you should bring it to us. No one is to report it beyond this station."

Robin and Kim looked at one another.

"Is... this alright with those... higher up?" Robin asked.

Gene grunted.

"I get twitchy when people go on the roof."

"Not what I mean." 

"I know.,"

"If you don;t ask then we don't have to tell you," Alex told him and Robin nodded slowly.

"Understood," he said.

Gene pulled a large bag of cookies that he'd purchased with his latest Latte Land order from his drawer and pulled one from within. He waved it in the air to emphasise his point as he said,

"If anyone's going to get that one-man dandruff factory back behind bars it's going to be Fenchurch east." He bit into his biscuit, sending a shower of crumbs across his desk which he made a vague attempt as brushing away. "Now, the only possible sighting we've had so far..." he trailed away as he noticed Kim's head moving every time he moved his hand, her eyes fixed on his crumbly snack.. "Problem, Stringer?"

Kim didn't realise for several moments that he'd spoken to her. She shook her head as though coming out of a hypnotic cookie trance.

"What, sorry?"

Gene narrowed his eyes.

"I should have got the mop as _well_ as the bucket," he barked, "you've left a pool of drool the size of Loch Ness on me floor!"

Kim managed to look both annoyed and guilty at the same time.

"Sorry," she mumbled. She bit her lip for a moment and began hesitantly. "I... don't suppose you'd be willing to share those?"

Gene took a large bite and smirked.

"You're right, I wouldn't," he mumbled, showering crumbs across the desk.

"Oh guv, have a _heart!"_ Kim protested.

"You've got the wrong guv," Gene pulled a face and Alex rolled her eyes, desperate to prevent world war three from breaking out.

"As Gene was about to tell you," she began loudly, "I made contact with a snout who believes he overheard a conversation between two small-time dealers, One had been approached by Layton and refused service. It backs up a sighting near Ladbroke Grove tube station late yesterday. As yet this is the only information we have but we'll give you a full description of what he was last seen wearing so that you can distribute it to your teams."

Gene scowled deeply as a lengthy rumble came from the depths of Kim's stomach, turning her face red.

"That's if we can hear ourselves think over that racket," he commented.

"_Gene_," Alex admonished.

"_You_ were the one who wouldn't give me a cookie!" Kim cried.

"You get yer grubby paws on my _wife's_ cookies every tuesday, you're not having these and all!"

"Kim, you had _two breakfasts!" _Robin pointed out.

"_I'm catching up!" _Kim protested, her cheeks burning horribly.

Alex bit her lip, her suspicions coming back to her.

"Kim, it's alright, why don't you go and wait in CID, I'd like to have a talk with you," she glanced at Robin, "you too."

"What have _I_ done?!" Robin protested.

"Nothing," Alex sighed, "I've been trying to speak with you both for _weeks!_ Just take a seat in CID, I will be right out."

Kim hesitated.

"Can I have a cookie first?" she asked

"Christ almighty, Metal Mickey!" Gene cried, "I'm surprised you're not still running off those sausage rolls, the amount you put away at me wedding reception!" he narrowed his eyes, "I can still see half of them round yer middle."

Kim's mouth flew open in outrage as she slammed a hand on his desk.

"_What?"_ she cried, her eyes flashing with anger, "Right, that's it -"

"Oh _Christ_, Robin, get her out of here," Alex cried, desperately attempting to hold her back, "she's got her piercing kit," She turned crossly to Gene who was looking fairly smug as Robin somehow managed to prise her off the desk and towards the door. "I'm not spending the next six weeks dabbing antiseptic onto your bum," she told Gene. She closed her eyes and gave a sigh as the door closed and Kim and Robin left the room. She looked at Gene with frustration. "You just can't help yourself, _can_ you?" she sighed, "you and Kim are as bad as one another. One day I'm going to walk in here and find limbs all over the floor from where you've torn each other to shreds.

"Your bit of skirt has a temper on her," Gene told her.

_"Yes! _Caused by _you!"_ Alex cried, "you and your bag of cookies," she shook her head slowly. "Just go easy on her, Gene."

"If there's one person in this station you don't need to go easy on it's Stringer."

"She's not always the tough soul you think she is," Alex stared towards the door. "I worry about her."

"_I_ worry about yer _sanity,"_ Gene told her.

Alex sighed.

"I have to talk to her before she kills someone," she glanced at Gene, "since it will probably be you." She hesitated momentarily then swiped the bag of cookies.

"_Oi!"_ Gene cried in horror.

"Call it compensation," Alex told him, "for your workplace harassment."

She flashed Gene a charming smile as she vanished from the office, leaving him frowning in her direction. He stared at the last bite of cookie in his hand for a few moments, then tossed it in his mouth and chewed it quickly. He brushed himself down for crumbs and folded his arms, then scowled.

"Anyone who says that's the way the cookie crumbles gets shot on sight," he mumbled.


	12. Chapter 11: Tea Break

_**A/N: Lurching from one disaster to another at home right now so I'm really sorry |I haven't been around, I have several chapters written but I have no laptop right now so editing hasn't been easy, apologies for any mistakes**_

**Chapter 11**

Kim frowned as Robin did a stupid little jig in the office.

"Please don't tell me you went near Bammo when he had that tin of itching powder," she panicked.

"No, I need the loo," Robin mumbled.

"Again?"

"It's not like I've set up _camp_ in there!" Robin protested.

"You went before we left home!"

"My bladder's not listening to logic!"

"So go to the toilet then!"

"Alex told us we had to wait _here!"_

Kim rolled her eyes with a sigh.

"I don't think she meant at the expense of your trousers, for goodness sake, go to the toilet!" She sighed as she watched him consider for a moment, then shuffle away like a penguin on the ice. "Christ almighty, it's going to be one of those days" she sighed, rubbing her forehead. She heard footsteps and glanced up to see Simon peering awkwardly through the doorway. He seemed to hesitate for an extraordinarily long time. "Simon?" she eventually spoke up, "Are you OK?"

Simon seemed to jump visibly, not expecting to hear her voice.

"What? Oh," he gave a slightly strained smile, "I'm fine."

"You don't _look_ it," Kim told him, "this looks like jumper-territory and... yet... you _seem_ to just be wearing a shirt."

Simon sighed.

"Believe me, if the weather was three degrees cooler I'd be in the jumper without hesitation."

"That doesn't sound good," Kim said worriedly, "Do you want to talk?"

Simon flinched as he felt himself drowning in guilt. There she was; his best friend, the one who had managed to pull him out of some desperately dark times and helped him keep himself together when he had no one, and yet all he could think about was the man who'd caused her so much pain. _Fuck_, he hated himself for that. It ripped out his heart to know it. He gave her a wobbly smile and said,

"No, no that's OK, I'm," he swallowed, trying to think of an excuse, "I'm just having a bit of a strange day, that's all."

Kim nodded slowly, memories of the strange blast of music in the car coming back to her.

"Tell me about it," she sighed quietly.

Simon's eyes skipped to an empty desk. Damnit, the one person he wanted to speak to was the one person who wasn't there. He stepped a little closer and cleared his throat behind Jake who jumped, not even realising Simon was there.

"Can I help you, Sir?" he frowned.

Simon hesitated.

"Is Marci not here today?" he asked.

"She's here, she's just getting some files from the archives," Jake told him, "did you want to speak to her?"

Simon hesitated. He felt in such a mess. Finally he nodded

"Yes," he said quietly, "I was just wondering..." he sighed, "if she felt like a cup of tea. It's not important."

Jake frowned a little as he watched Simon shrugging. He wasn't altogether sure what that was all about.

"Well," he began, "she's got a few things to find. Maybe try back in half an hour?"

Simon nodded.

"OK," he said flatly and turned to leave with Kim giving him a slightly anxious glance. She knew this wasn't normal Simon behaviour. Usually when there was something wrong he'd be moaning it from the rooftops. His tight-lipped approach made her worry and she sighed with concern.

She was pulled from her thoughts by the arrival of a bag of cookies landing on the desk in front of her and she glanced up somewhat surprised to see Alex by her side.

"There," she said, "that should quieten your tummy down."

Instantly Kim's face reddened but the cookies looked so tempting that she managed to put her embarrassment to one side as she took the bag and opened it. There were still 5 cookies left inside.

"Isn't the Guv going to be majorly pissed off with me having these?" she asked.

"Isn't that a bonus?" Alex smiled and Kim closed her eyes as she laughed softly. Pissing Gene off was a bonus for her in any given situation.

"Thanks, ma'am," she said gratefully, reaching in for one of the chocolate chip-filled treats. She's only taken a bite when Alex asked,

"Where's Robin?"

"Sorry Ma'am," Kim mumbled through a mouthful, "toilet."

Somehow Alex seemed neither surprised nor too annoyed.

"Ahh," she nodded, "I see. Never mind, it's probably you I needed to speak to anyway." 

Kim swallowed her mouthful and looked at her curiously.

"Oh?"

"Yes," Alex took a deep breath, "I don't want you to think I'm speaking out of turn, but I've been noticing -" 

"Ma'am?"

A voice at the door made Alex growl with frustration.

"_Damnit!" _she cursed, closing her eyes as she turned around. "What is it now?"

Her DC, Luke, stood at the doorway.

"Phone call for you, ma'am," he said.

"I'm busy," Alex said in a tone of sheer annoyance.

"It's important," Luke said apologetically, "your snout."

Alex closed her eyes and muttered under her breath. _Damn everything._ By the time she confronted Kim about her suspicions she'd be in the third trimester. She opened her eyes and looked from Kim to Luke and finally took a deep breath, climbing to her feet.

"Fine," she said, "I'll take it. But _you_," she jabbed her finger in Kim's direction, "stay here until I get back because I need to speak to you." she marched to the doorway, passing Robin as he returned from the toilet, "_And_ you," she said, prodding him squarely in the chest and making him yelp in surprise.

"What have_ I_ done?" he cried in alarm as he cautiously walked across to Kim.

"Beats me," she said, holding the bag towards him, "cookie?"

"Oi, Cookie Monster," Gene's angry voice boomed from the doorway and Kim rolled her eyes as Robin took one of the contraband goodies.

"Run," she advised him, "run while you can, I'll stall him."

Robin hesitated for all of two seconds, weighing up the tasty looking cookie with the angry look on Gene's face and decided to take Kim up on her offer.

"I owe you," he whispered as he made a dash for it and Kim clung protectively to the rest of the bag.

"Alex said I could have them!" she protested but to her surprise Gene had more important matters on his mind.

"You can meet the filing cabinet later, Stringer," he said, "I need to borrow yer resident Damien Hurst-alternative." 

"Em?" Kim frowned, "what for?"

"Want someone to paint me in the nude," Gene scoffed, "what do you _think_ I want her for? Need a photo-fit drawn ASAP, if not faster."

"You swear you're not going to stand there dipping your fingers in ketchup, fingerpainting on the wall and barking '_See I can bloody do art and it didn't take me four years at art college to learn how to unscrew the lid on a paint tin'_ this time?"

Gene rolled his eyes.

"Ruddy hell, _one time_ and I'm marked for life!"

"So was the _wall!" _cried Kim.

"Will you calm your overly galvanised body parts?" Gene demanded, "one photo-fit is all I need. Some prat took exception to the latest Layton news conference. Walloped more television sets in two minutes than Sonic the Hedgehog managed in all three acts of the Green Hill Zone."

Kim gave a deep sigh. She had work of her own to do, there were murdered teenagers who weren't going to identify themselves but she supposed she had little choice, especially since she was still clutching the bag of cookies.

"Fine," she said, "but one joke about dead animals in formaldehyde and I'm taking her back."

~xXx~

Em didn't like feeling so useless. She was a spare wheel and she knew it. There was no place for her in Fenchurch East; she wasn't a copper, she barely had any use as a photo-fit artist seeing as the majority of the work had been computerised for years and she didn't feel confident enough in her surroundings to make work for herself. The vast majority of days were spent sharpening the pencils on the stationery supply cabinet and trying to avoid Gene as much as was humanly possible.

She scribbled away on the sheet of scrap paper in front of her, first with blue, then with red, doodling as a distraction from the radio. The same songs over and over, songs she really didn't want to hear. She wished that she could detach herself emotionally from music but she never had been able to. Songs were extremely emotive to her, she connected them with people or places or times of her life and those connections were hard to break. Not impossible, but took a damned sight more time than she had.

Here she was, stuck in a world where every piece of music reminded her of a dark, crushing summer spent alone in her room, Madonna on repeat when she could stand no more of the radio playing the same old songs, the same old songs that Kim's DC was listening to on the radio through the other side of the office while he tried to extract a staple from his shoe.

"Em?"

Em jumped a mile and cursed herself for it. She did that every damn time someone spoke to her these days. _Shit_, she felt so _jumpy_. It was being _there_, wasn't it? That damned year.

"Yes?" her head snapped around as Kim stood behind her. "Sorry... sorry, I was miles away."

"You always are," Kim said a little sadly. There was a part of her that still felt like she was failing Em. She knew her job was hard by default and had never expected it to be anything less than an uphill struggle, after all she remembered what it was like to be in Em's shoes – literally since she was still wearing Kim's cast offs – but with Em being so far removed from the kind of recruit she'd been expecting Kim didn't know how to reach her, nor why she was there. She glanced at the paper on the desk curiously. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Em said quickly, grasping the sheet on which she'd scribbled an envelope with a little red speech bubble above it bearing a number one, "nothing," she closed her eyes and gave a little sigh, "Missing someone," she admitted, "sorry." she left the ball of paper on her desk and turned around properly. "More pencils to sharpen?" she asked with a hefty sigh and Kim shook her head.

"Not this time," she said, "proper work. A photo-fit."

Em hesitated.

"This isn't like the time DCI Hunt made me do the illustration for the _Pin The Water Balloon On Bammo_ game is it?" she asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

"Not this time."

Em took a deep breath and pushed back her chair. She knew she'd only just been complaining to herself about having no work but spending the morning under Gene's remit was not a pleasant alternative.

"Alright," she said, grasping the sketchpad and pencils on her desk. Kim stepped back to let her pass and found her eyes drawn to Em's attire. She still flt so strange seeing her clothes on somebody else.

"You can buy some clothes of your own, you know," she commented as they walked towards CID.

"Sorry?" Em looked around.

"You don't have to stay in my cast-offs," Kim said a little uncomfortably. Em felt a little awkward too.

"Sorry," she said, "I hate buying clothes, and I didn't really want to buy any. It made me feel like I'd -" she flinched at the thought, "accepted I was staying."

Kim nodded slowly. She remembered that feeling.

"Yeah, I understand," she said.

"Besides, I'd probably only buy the same things," Em said with an awkward shrug, "these are fine."

"_Well if it isn't Picasso with piercings." _

Gene only had to utter those words and Em felt her brain switch to murder mode.

"Then again, a prison uniform will probably be my next outfit if I have to spend the morning in here with him," she muttered.


	13. Chapter 12: Familiar Faces

_**Note: long A/N at the end of this chapter**_

**~xXx~**

**Chapter 12**

As far as productivity went, Simon's morning was so far on a minus five. He had the last year's petty cash usage of his department to report on by the end of the day and so far he'd written; "_Petty Cash as used by Hi-Tech Crimes Division: Stationery: 45%, postage 12% Photocopying Keats's arse, Keats, Jim Keats, Simon & Jim Keats, Simon Shoebury-Keats."_

"Good morning."

"_Shit,"_ Simon gave a gasp and his fingers crunched up the sheet of paper as Michael arrived in the doorway, smiling. He felt his heart racing for all the wrong reasons. Guilt, anxiety... could there have been a worse time for him to arrive? "Morning," he closed his eyes and let out his breath, "Good morning, Michael."

Michel walked slowly forward, his hands in his pockets.

"Are you sure?" he asked, "doesn't look like it's a very good morning by the expression on your face."

Simon hesitated. He'd never been great at thinking on his feet and mumbled for a moment.

"Reports," he began, "they're not going very well. Keep doing them wrong." That at least was the truth. So far he'd tried to write the report three times and they had all ended up about Keats.

"Sorry," Michael said, sitting down. He looked at Simon, studying his expression. There was more than reports worrying him, of that he was fairly sure. He found himself rocking a little nervously. "Is everything else OK?"

Simon closed his eyes, just for a moment_. No, it wasn't. None of it was OK. Nothing._ He swallowed and tried to force a smile.

"Yeah, it's fine," he said.

"Are you ill again?"

Simon felt his feeble smile disappearing.

"Yeah," he said quietly, "Yeah, my stomach's not feeling good." He flinched as he said quietly, "I'm getting butterflies." He felt his heart beating faster as he thought about his brush with Keats the previous night; the mixed up mess of man and monster, begging him to stay, demanding that he not walk away. Shit, why _had_ he walked away? He regretted that now. There was a part of him that knew he'd been strong, but another part that had been desperate to see even a glimpse of the human inside of Keats. One glimpse and he'd have stayed. But would that have been the right thing to do?

What _was_ 'right'? Even Simon didn't know any more. Was the right thing to turn his back on Keats and walk away from a man who had only ever brought him angst and misery to concentrate on a man who gave him all the things Keats never had, who _really_ cared for him? Or was he doing the wrong thing by staying with a man he knew he didn't feel the same way about?

"Simon?"

_Shit_, how long had he been deep in thought? He looked at Michael a little guiltily.

"Sorry," he said, "this report... it's really stressing me out." 

Michael felt his guts turning over with nerves as he got to his feet and offered a smile as feeble as Simon's had been.

"Well," he said worriedly, "I-I suppose I'd best leave you to it." He walked to the door but hung back for a moment. "I'll see you tonight though?"

Simon looked at him blankly.

"Tonight?" he frowned, "what's tonight?"

Michael gave a pained shrug.

"I'm not sure exactly," he said, "you said _'see you tomorrow' _and I just thought..." he shrugged again, his smile wavering. "Doesn't matter. Maybe I'll see you later."

Simon bit his lip. The guilt was making his cheeks flush.

"Maybe," he said quietly as he watched Michael finally heading out of sight. He clutched his head admonishing himself for being so stupid. Stupid for thinking about Keats, stupid for dealing so badly with Michael, stupid for letting himself get into such a mess in the first place. He couldn't handle the pressure inside of his own mind any longer. He needed to get out of the office and he needed to get the thoughts out of his mind. He found himself thinking about Marci and the friendly ear she leant him and suddenly he felt desperate for another 'cup of tea', this time without the added coffee. He glanced at the clock. Well, that was a fruitless activity, he hadn't seen the hands of a clock move in almost three years. Had enough time passed? Surely she'd be back by now?

Feeling his guts churning with confusion and anxiety, Simon got up and left his office, walking at speed down the corridor. He found himself in CID and quickly looked around but there was no sign of Marci and no sign of Jake this time either. All he found was Bammo looking a bit shifty and trying to hide a water balloon behind his back, and a strange gathering over the far side of the office.

At the front of the gathering sat Em with paper and a pencil in her hand while a thin, lanky young man with round glasses that kept falling down his nose sat beside her.

"Eyes were darker," he said, "there were bags under them too."

A little way behind them stood Gene and Kim, looking ready to kill one another.

"You don't have to stay and babysit, you know," Gene told her.

"I don't have the time or patience to deal with a homicide on home territory," Kim pulled a face.

"I'm sure _Picasso With Piercings_ is big enough and ugly enough to look after herself," Gene said as Em's head shot around furiously.

"Not as ugly as people look with pencils stuck up their noses," she mumbled.

"That's _enough_," Kim lunged forward to place herself between them, "oh for god's sake, I'm not used to being the one to peace keep for _you_, Hunt, this isn't my job. Someone else can do the auspisticising."

Em's head shot around for the second time in less than a minute.

_"What?"_

Kim blinked and backed away.

"Nothing. Get on with drawing the mad man."

Gene folded his arms and scowled at Kim who seemed to be mirroring his pose. She seemed far too comfortable to be standing in CID as though she owned the place. There was a strange shiver travelling down his spine as a little voice in the back of his mind told him that, one day, she probably would. He shook his head and cleared his throat, trying to get rid of those thoughts. Instead he decided to fall back on the old favourite; _picking on Kim._

"Haven't you got a department to run?"

"Yes, funnily enough I have."

_"Shouldn't you be getting back to it?"_

"Not after last time."

"What do you _mean_ 'last time'?"

"I will have _no sympathy_ for you if Em tries sharpening your noise in the pencil sharpener a second time," Kim told him.

"You can't supervise every time I need a bloody suspect drawn!"

"Then stop provoking my team!"

Gene rolled his eyes.

"I'm not spending the rest of the morning arguing with you and yer musical bloody stomach."

Kim's eyes widened as her cheeks turned a deep shade of red.

"It's not _my_ fault," she protested, "you took your bloody cookies back!"

"You don't need an excuse," Gene barked, "it's like _Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Gut _when you're in the office."

No one had ever seen Kim's eyes flash with such anger and embarrassment before.

"Em," she barked, "I need your sharpest pencil, _right now,"_ and Gene took a long step backwards as Simon cleared his throat, fearing that he was about to witness a case of GBH.

"What's going on?" he asked and Kim looked up.

"Just another day of positive workplace relations," she grumbled and Simon rolled his eyes.

"I mean the photofit. What's happened?" Simon asked.

"Some idiot ran amok in a branch of Dixons, apparently," Kim said.

"Must have taken offense to the dumbing down of TV," Gene began, "smashed every screen in the place and vanished into the ether screaming about justice."

"What?" Simon frowned.

"The shop's in-built security system sealed up the room with all the CCTV tapes," Kim told him, "so until they can get the manager down to unlock it we need a quick image of the suspect to circulate.

"The rate we're going we'll be arresting the world's number one tennis player," Gene glared at Em, "_Again."_

"It's not _my_ fault all your suspects have dark wavy hair!" she barked crossly.

"He had glasses too," the young man piped up, not that his comment appeased Em.

"Believe me, that does _not_ make it any easier from my point of view," she mumbled through gritted teeth as she continued drawing them in.

Simon bit his lip as he felt a peculiar tingling in the pit of his stomach. He felt stupid, ridiculously stupid. Just the mention of dark hair and glasses had set him off in the most alarming way and he found himself edging casually over towards them.

"He looked a bit... _rougher_," the man was describing, "unshaven. Stubbly. Bit grubby, like he'd been sleeping on the street or something."

"More like this?" Em asked as she darkened the shading around the suspect's jawline.

"Yeah, that's it."

Curiously Simon peered over Em's shoulder and felt his head spinning. Shit, no, it wasn't... it _couldn't_ be Keats, but -

He turned to Kim and Gene, his voice an octave higher than usual.

"Where did you say he went mad again?" he asked.

"Dixons," Gene grunted, "I've heard of breaking news but this was taking it too far."

Simon swallowed and looked back at the photo-fit. His head tried to tell him he was being ridiculous but the strange butterflies in his gut said otherwise. He flinched as he recalled the state of the Jim Keats he'd seen the day before; scruffy, unshaven, thin… his eyes surrounded by dark circles... _That_ was the Keats stared back at him and suddenly Simon found his feet moving without his permission and all he could do was follow them.

"Excuse me," he mumbled, his pace picking up, "sorry, forgot to finish my reports."

"Would those reports be on your ability to run like an eight year old girl?" Gene called after him but Simon was deaf to him. He was oblivious to anything and everything but the sketch of the man he knew only too well. There was a burning sensation in his chest and a feeling that he just couldn't ignore. Jim Keats was having a melt down and Simon had to find him before whatever was left of him burnt out completely.

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: hey everyone, I am so sorry that my output is so slow right now. Unfortunately it's going to stay that way for a while. Ever since I embarked on this long journey I've been prolific with updating and it gives me a great deal of joy to post chapters as often as I can. The last few months have been incredibly stressful at home; with one of my children diagnosed with autism and another diagnosed with cerebral palsy it has been one long merry-go-round of appointments and assessments, coupled with a very severe and lengthy CFS/ME relapse which has left me without the mental, physical or emotional energy to write, as much as I want to (at least it's not writer's block!) I can't guarantee how often I will be able to update between now and Christmas, the minimum will be one or two chapters a week, and hopefully from the new year I will be back to near-daily updates. Also, Charlotte and others I talk to regularly, I am so sorry my correspondence has ceased, please don't think I'm neglecting you, I am going to try to catch up at the weekend.**_

_**On a similar and far more positive note I wanted to say how encouraged and thrilled I've been to hear from people who haven't reviewed/messaged me before who have been following this series – thank you so much for your feedback! For several reasons it's hitting me right now how much I am dreading this coming to an end, such a big part of my life will be over, but also I am excited about coming ever closer to the end game after three and a half years of writing. So don't think for a moment that slow updates for a couple of months is any indication that I'm about to abandon the series because that's the last thing from my mind, and I really hope you'll stick with me through to the end, a year and a half from now.**_


	14. Chapter 13: You've Been Framed

_**A/N: Hi everyone, as I explained last time things have been very difficult for my family lately and writing has been almost on hold, I am so sorry for such a long gap between chapters. While the next two months might remain on the slow side there are some big, positive changes happening at home around the new year and updates will return to their previous pace. In the meanwhile bear with me as things remain stressy here, and I hope you enjoy the upcoming chapters!**_

**~xXx~**

**Chapter 13**

The sight of smashed TV screens as far as the eye could see was a slightly heart-wrenching one for Simon. It felt like such a waste, such a fucking waste, all those TV sets that would never get to see series 8 of Red Dwarf next year, or the next season of the X-Files. Then he realised he was being stupid and told himself off.

"I've been working in the hi-tech crimes division too long," he murmured. He'd seen people doing un-PC things with PCs and survived a murderous toaster showdown but the TV sets would not be plotting a revenge attack. The broken glass on the floor crunched against his shoes as he shuffled inside, workers standing around in shock while a couple of uniformed officers spoke to witnesses.

"_I'm sorry, we're closed."_

"What?" Simon turned around, facing a man who looked flustered and not altogether sure what was happening.

"We're closed," he repeated "sorry, there was a-an incident this morning."

Simon cleared his throat, trying to focus.

"I know, that's why I'm here," he said, reaching for his ID, "DCI Shoebury."

"Oh," The man looked around, "well, we've already given our statements to some of your colleagues."

"I know that," Simon felt his face reddening nervously, "I'm from a different department. Hi-tech crimes. Just investigating to see if this was some kind of," he flinched, "_Television genocide_." Shit, _why_ was he so bad at bluffing?

Luckily the man before him seemed in too much shock to process his words.

"There's not much more we can do until the manager arrives to get access to the CCTV tapes," he said.

Simon stared at the mess, his eyes scanning the shop in dismay. How had one man caused so much damage in so little time? 'One man'? _Not quite a man,_ his head reminded him but he chose to ignore it.

"My colleague said that he, the suspect, said something about getting justice?" he asked nervously and the man nodded.

"Seemed strange to me," he admitted, "burst in, smashed the screens and started going on about never having justice and deserving better." He shrugged and glanced at the one TV still working, and that was only because it was mounted too high for Keats to reach. "maybe he was one of _that guy's_ unhappy customers."

"What guy?" Simon frowned.

"The escaped one, err..." he tapped the side of his head, "that Layton one." 

"Layton?" Simon's brow creased as he felt his stomach churning, "what's _Layton_ got to do with it?"

"Nothing really," the man sighed, "just trying to make a joke. Lighten the atmosphere," he shrugged, "it was the latest press conference on the screen at the time. That pompous prat was going on about saving the city again."

"Pompous what?" Simon frowned.

"The _bigwig!"_ The man tried to explain, "the one who's getting some big role next week. Keeps going on about catching the guy. I suppose the idiot who smashed this place up was as sick of seeing his face as _we_ were."

Simon glanced at the one working TV as the man in question played on. He still looked familiar and yet Simon still couldn't place him. Was that really the thing that caused Keats's outburst?

"Oh, here he is," the man left Simon to approach a rather perturbed man entering the shop.

"Shit, this _mess_," he groaned as he picked his way through the broken glass.

"It's the manager," the man explained to Simon, "Mister Brown?" he jogged a couple of paces, "I'm sorry, we haven't started cleaning up yet, they're still taking photos and evidence."

"My one day off," the manager moaned, "it had to happen today, didn't it? Oh well," he sighed reluctantly, " since I'm here, I'll get helping as soon as we get the go-ahead to clean up. Just let me get those tapes first."

"I-I can take them back for you," Simon blurted as the manager turned to him with a frown.

"You are?"

Simon reached for his warrant again.

"DCI Shoebury," he said, "I'm from Fenchurch East. I can take the tapes back to the station, I'm ready to go."

The manager turned to the security keypad at the back of the shop and shrugged.

"That would save me a job," he said, "thanks."

"No problem," Simon mumbled guiltily, rocking back on his shoes. His heart was pounding, _shit,_ what was the _matter_ with him? What was he even doing there? If the perpetrator was Keats then what was he trying to do? Intercept the _evidence?_ Shit, he _was_, wasn't he? And _then_ what? As though no one else was going to recognise Keats eventually from the photo-fit and descriptions. OK, he might have lost a bit of weight and gained a bit of stubble but Gene wasn't stupid, he was going to put 2 and 2 together and come to a conclusion that was going to lead to Simon receiving his P45 if he wasn't careful.

"Here," the manager piled four tapes in Simon's hands, "is there anything else you need?"

Simon glanced at him guiltily.

"No, no, I think these will do fine," he said anxiously, "I'll get these back to the station right away." He turned and picked his way quickly through the broken glass again, "…_not totally sure what I'm going to do with them when I get there though," _he mumbled under his breath.

~xXx~

"That's it. That's him. Perfect."

Em sighed with relief as she put down her sketch and wiped her hands against her shirt.

"So can I go back to an office where no one's making snidey comments about tennis players now?" she begged.

"Go on," Kim told her, "I'll be back in the office shortly." She glanced at the bag of cookies still in Gene's hands, "when I've tried my hand at a spot of robbery," she said.

Gene gave a hefty sigh and grabbed the photo-fit.

"So what do we have here?" he mumbled, "just as thought, the world's number one tennis player, except this time with bloody glasses," he froze quite suddenly as a spark of horrible recognition passed through his mind. "Wait a ruddy minute," he grabbed for the pencil on the desk and began adding alterations to the sketch, "a bit wider down here... and a bit less stubble on _here_..."

"Guv, what the hell are you _doing?"_ cried Kim, "never touch an artist's work!"

"Kim."

Kim's head snapped around in shock. What was the last time Gene had called her by her name? Had he _ever?_ Maybe once. She stared at him in confusion and followed his gaze to the paper, and in an instant she understood.

"_Fuck."_

With a shaking hand she took the page from him, staring at the features that were far, _far_ too familiar to her, the ones that still appeared in her nightmares and probably always would. Her mouth fell open a little way as she tried to think of something to say but no words were forthcoming and finally she closed it again, trying to absorb the news. Before she could work out what to say the phone rang in Gene's office and he went to take the call, leaving Kim staring at Keats, the picture before her was of a troubled, desperate man but still the one who had brought such depths of darkness into her life.

It didn't make sense. There'd been no sign of him for... well, she wasn't sure exactly _how_ long. The last time she'd seen him had been almost nine months earlier. She wasn't sure where she thought he was or what she thought had happened to him but she'd felt safe and secure that he was far away. Now he was smashing up televisions ten minutes away?

"Fucking _Keats_," she whispered. Her stomach turned over at the sight as she heard Gene's voice becoming louder and more irritated in his phone conversation.

"_Oh they did, did they? Could you describe for me the detective who brought the other tapes back?"_

"Ma'am?"

Kim glanced up as Imran stood at the door, looking staple-free for once, "Surrey's on the phone. New witness statements."

"Right," Kim tried to shake herself from the dark thoughts that were starting to creep in, "_Right_. Thank you. I'll be right there." 

Imran hesitated.

"Is everything alright, ma'am?" he asked.

Kim blinked as she looked at Em's rendering of the scruffier Jim Keats and shuddered.

"Yes," she said quietly, "Just... someone I really didn't wish to see. That's all." She blinked and allowed herself one deep, staggered breath. That was as far as she would allow herself to waiver. With a firm nod she laid down the paper. I'll be right there," she said as Gene burst out of his office looking as though someone had just accused him of flower arranging. "Guv?" she frowned, "what's wrong?"

Gene stood in the doorway, his hands on his hips, staring at Kim, trying to work out how to express himself without blowing a fuse in anger.

"The manager of Dixons just called to inform me that our _representative_ missed one of the CCTV tapes of Jimbo's target practice when he brought them back as evidence," he began.

Kim wasn't sure what the problem was.

"Oh?" She prompted.

"Funny thing _is_," Gene began, "I don't seem to have these tapes in my possession yet and the description of the detective who's retrieved them was shockingly familiar. Some lanky blonde _prat_ asking a lot of questions about our familiar suspect."

Kim felt her heart sinking at Gene's description. She swallowed and tried to block out the obvious as she glanced at the picture on the desk again.

"_Shit_," she mumbled.

"Ma'am?" Imran interrupted, "I'm sorry, but... the phone..."

Kim blinked and tried to focus.

"Right, right, the call," she said quietly, "OK. Guv..." she glanced at Gene, looking lost and shaken from the news and Gene shook his head.

"Don't worry Stringer, take yer call. I've got a lanky blonde prat to investigate."

Kim nodded grimly, her head low as she left. Gene flexed his fingers and cracked his knuckles hoping the whole thing had been a misunderstanding. He feared, however, the only thing misunderstood was Simon's understanding of how to be a decent human being.

~xXx~

"_What am I even doing?"_

That was a question Simon had asked himself repeatedly on the way back to the station with a bundle of tapes, and he found himself asking it once again as he pushed one into the slot of the little combi TV in the corner of his office.

_This is evidence… you've taken important evidence…_

"_Checking_ evidence. You're _checking_ important evidence," he told himself.

Technically he hadn't done anything wrong. He was a detective. He was just taking the tapes back to the station where they would be heading anyway. In fact he was saving the manpower of Gene sending someone else to collect them. All he was doing was simply taking a detour into his office before he handed them over.

_Am I going to hand them over?_

Shit, where did _that_ thought even come from? This was a crime, a lot of damage had been caused and Simon was a detective chief inspector. It's not as though hiding the tapes was going to do much good. There was a sketch and a bunch of witnesses that were all pointing in one direction.

His finger jabbed the play button and he stepped back with heart pounding as he took a shaky breath. He clung desperately to the hope that he was wrong, that it was just some _other_ dark haired man who happened to take offence to the news report, but the instant the image appeared on the screen that hope faded faster than Bammo's new year's resolution not to throw any more water balloons at Simon.

"_Shit,"_ he whispered.

_Smash, smash, smash_, one after another the televisions found themselves smashed as store workers attempted to restrain him and members of the public fled the broken glass and exploding components. Simon could only stare, shaking his head, mouth open as he tried to comprehend what he'd seen. _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._

"I thought you had reports to write." The grim, angry tones of Gene from behind him sent Simon spinning around in a panic. "Instead I find you playing a game of Smash TV. Or should that be, a game of '_who_ smashed TV?'"

"Gene," Simon could barely breathe the words, "I was just –" the fact that he had no end to his sentence said more than any feeble excuse that he could have given and the pallor that greeted Gene as he watched the colour drain from Simon's face simply added more fuel to the fire. Gene could barely stand the mix of anger, disappointment and confusion that raced around his veins as he watched Simon's expression contort with guilt and anxiety. Gene felt himself swallowing, his eyes fixed on Simon; his friend, colleague and son who looked as guilty as a little boy next to a pile of empty chocolate wrappers. The silence between them was crushing; the seconds stretching out like eons before them and so much time passed that Simon started to wonder if Gene was ever going to speak again.

When he did, he said three words and they put more fear into Simon than any he'd heard before.

"_Shoebury. A word."_


	15. Chapter 14: Venting His Spleen

Chapter 14

The moment the door slammed behind Simon without anybody touching it he knew just how deeply he'd found himself in the shit. Gene's door was good for more than opening when it needed to. It could expel the wrath of Gene when necessary too. Simon swallowed his mouth terribly dry and he looked at Gene as he paced back and forth, unable to even look at Simon.

"Gene," Simon began, his heart pounding as he tried to work out how to get out of this situation without losing at least one limb, "technically I haven't done anything wrong –"

"_Technically_," suddenly Gene didn't seem to have a problem with looking at Simon. Well, perhaps '_looking'_ wasn't the word. _Glaring with bile_, maybe. "_Technically_ is a word people use when they know full well they're in ten tons of pig poo," he started panting as though his anger had stolen his breath, glaring at Simon, waiting for him to justify his actions.

"I was only reviewing evidence!" Simon protested.

"Evidence that wasn't even your_ case!" _Gene spat angrily.

"I was doing you a _favour!"_ Simon protested helplessly, "I just brought them back, saved you the time of sending someone else to pick them up. Saved you the man power."

"That's your problem, isn't it, Shoebury?" Gene seethed, "it's Jimbo's _'man power'_ you've got on the brain!"

"Oh, don't be _ridiculous,"_ Simon hissed but his face was reddening.

"Just because you burst out yer seams every time you see the bastard doesn't mean you need to take up his hobby of hoarding illicit video tapes!" Gene cried and Simon rolled his eyes, suddenly succumbing to an anger of his own.

"I made _one mistake_, Gene!" he cried, "I slept with him _one time! _Just for that you think I've got his tackle on the brain twenty-four seven?"

"No, it's the lump in yer _kecks_ that makes me think you've got him on yer brain twenty-four seven!" The end of Gene's any cry brought Simon's focus back to his nether regions. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_, they were like a faulty smoke alarm going off at the wrong time. He felt himself redden as he tried to hide behind Gene's in-tray but Gene's anger was far from over yet. He stared at Simon, his shoulders dwarfing his own head as though he'd puffed up like a wild animal on the defensive. His tone changed, his volume lower but his eyes flashing with rage as he began, "Frankly Shoebury I do not give two short shits whose drainpipe you stick your overactive chipolata in. I care where _he's_ been sticking _his,"_ the anger came back in one frantic burst as he stepped towards Simon, the veins on his forehead standing out, "in my _wife!"_ he cried, and the expression on Simon's face suddenly started to change, "and what about Stringer?" Gene pressed the point with anger, "for someone who's supposed to be her buddy-buddy pal it's funny how you turn a blind eye to the extra-curricular activities he took part in every time his little schoolboy paid a visit to her ruddy playground!"

"Everything is one big euphemism with you, isn't it?" Simon cried, missing the point so deliberately that had the point been sentient it would have stood up and left in disgust.

"Maybe that's because I don't feel very comfortable with talking about the fact that my apparent son and heir wants to book permanent residency in the devil's back passage!"

"_Ohhhh,_ I get it," Simon felt his face heating up again and his expression began to darken, "that's what's _really_ behind it, isn't it?"

Gene stared at Simon, for once clueless.

"Behind what?" he asked crossly.

"Doesn't matter how many 'rainbows' float about in your station, when it comes down to it you're still the same old Gene Hunt."

Gene narrowed his eyes, his collar feeling tight as his neck seemed to swell with anger.

"Are you going to explain that remark or do I have to ask the filing cabinet to do it for me?" he demanded.

"All the lip service in the world about changing doesn't mask the fact that underneath you're still the same man I watched on that tape," Simon hissed, "the big bully, beating up the queer boy."

Before Simon could embarrass himself with another word there was a hand around his collar and he found himself moving sharply backwards across the office until the familiar, sharp pain of a filing cabinet drawer handle pushed the breath from his body.

"Don't you dare, Simon Shoebury," Gene hissed in his face, "do not even _try_ turning this into an assault on me for the way me morals fell _three decades ago!_ I'm not about to mince me way out for an evening banging Bammo up the bum but I'm staring right in the face a man whose couch I bunked down on for three ruddy months, and who I asked to hand me the rings at me bloody wedding even though he couldn't even arrange a night of beer and strippers. Me station's turned into the poster child for London's _getting poofs into the police_ campaign –

"I don't think that's its official title," Simon squeaked but Gene pushed him back against the cabinet and cut him off.

"And I let _half_ of them into me own home to scoff my ruddy _turkey_ last Christmas! Time changes people. It's changed me. _People_ changed me. Bolly, Sam," he stared Simon in the eye, "_you_. But some _people_," He spat the word as though it was a term he just couldn't connect when he thought about Keats, "_never_ change. And all the time you're chasing rainbows in the hope of catching him with a smashed up head and a bottle of TCP you're forgetting that the man who sends yer trouser elastic across the room is the same one who put me on Batman's sofa because he'd sent little Jimbo out on a mission that pulled Alex apart!"

Simon's eyes grew wide and stunned as he felt Gene's grasp on his collar finally loosen. He'd never seen such a look of torment across Gene's face. Recalling those terrible months after Keats's night of horror began to corrode him inside. Simon gagged and gasped a little until he was finally able to get the air back into his lungs. He watched Gene stepping back and tugged a little to loosen his collar before he finally whispered,

"_It's not the same."_

He knew he'd made a mistake the moment Gene's furious glare shirted back to him.

"Is that right?" he narrowed his eyes, "in what way is it not the same?"

Simon swallowed, wishing he'd never opened his big, fat trap.

"It's… that was the monster," he found himself whispering, "he'd been warped by too much energy, there was me and Rob and you and Alex… he was taking it from all _four_ of us and –"

"I'll jam a fucking _circuit breaker_ down your throat of you give me that _energy_ bollocks!" /gene spat, and Simon knew he'd overstepped the mark. Gene, for all his fragrant language, rarely used the f-word. Yet Simon just didn't know when to stop.

"He's breaking _down_, Gene," he found himself gabbling, "the man is trying to get out, we've seen it before, we _all_ have, even _you_…"

"If you're talking about the little 'man' down his pants –"

"Oh _shut up_, Hunt!" Simon found himself losing control. He knew this was going to end badly but the more he thought about Keats's behaviour from the night before and the twisted expressions he'd seen on that tape the more he worried, "for someone so quick to swear off the gay lifestyle you're obsessed with Keats's tackle!"

"You're a fine one to talk, your trouser tent can be seen from bloody Mars!"

"He's _human_, Gene!" Simon cried, thumping his fist on the desk with a force that surprised them both, "he's to be, aty least, but something's stopping him, and something's distressing him –"

"And you're his security blanket are you Shoebury? Gene cried, "what are you going to do? Pat him on the head and shove a lollypop in his gob?"

"No, I want him to be a _man!"_ Simon screamed, "I want him to make the choice and _fight_ it! Fight that darkness, fight whatever it is that's still got hold of him. We know he can be human. We've all seen it. He has moments, like in court, and when he saw his video…" Simon flinched suddenly as a vague memory started to prod him in the back of his mind; _something_ about that video. He shook his head quickly as he tried to dispel those thoughts. He couldn't get distracted now. "He's not strong enough to fight it by himself, he _needs_ me!"

"You need yer bloody _head_ tested if you think there's anything human left inside his greasy head."

"_You_ need to extract your head from your hairy _arse!"_ Simon cried, out of sensible arguments.

"Rather me own head up there than Jimbo's penis," Gene yelled, and in that instant Simon saw red.

~xXx~

"It turned out my snout was on top form," Alex told Robin as they walked through the corridors, "now we've got three sightings and an almost _certain_ location."

"Do you need the dogs down there?" Robin asked.

"Just to be on the safe side, Alex nodded, "with his fondness for narcotics and explosives your dogs are going to have a field day. I just need to run this past Gene first. _And_," she looked at Robin severely, "I need to talk to you and Kim," but as they entered CID there was no sign of Kim. "_Damn_," Alex sighed, closing her eyes, "you'll have to do –"

But the sound of a metallic clang followed by someone screaming pulled both their attention towards Gene's office.

"What the hell was _that?"_ Robin cried and they turned just in time to see Simon pulling himself out of the filing cabinet and launching a flying fist towards Gene.

"_I can give as good as I, get you know!" _he cried and a moment of panic overtook them both.

"_Oh shit,"_ Alex hissed, racing in the direction of the office.

"Since when did world war three begin?" Rob in cried, hot on her tail.

Throwing open the door, Alex raced inside just as Gene wiped a bloody nose against his sleeve and attempted to kick Simon in the privates. "Stop this!" she cried, "What the hell's going on?"

"Why don't you ask my bastard _offspring_ to give you the full lowdown?" Gene spat, his words launching Simon towards him in a fit of fury.

"_What _did you call me?"

"For god's sake, Robin, _do_ something!" Alex cried as she grabbed Gene somewhat ineffectively around his torso and attempted to drag him backwards. Robin couldn't comprehend what he was seeing and it took a few moments for his brain to slip into gear.

"_Simon,"_ he hissed eventually, "Calm the _fuck_ down!" he grabbed Simon from behind, arms over his shoulders to drag him away but Simon was too intent on finishing his fight to let anything stand in his way and without making a conscious decision his left elbow swung out behind him and jabbed Robin hard in the stomach. There was an instance of immediate regret as a pained howl and a choking cough came from Robin that called a halt to both Simon and Gene's angered exchange and with some horror they both turned to see him drop to the floor, clutching his abdomen.

"_Robin,"_ Simon cried, "Rob, I'm _sorry_, I –"

"Well done Shoebury," Gene barked, dabbing at his bleeding nose, "yer elbow of doom has destroyed the head of the canine division!"

"_Robin,"_ Alex released Gene from her grasp and rushed across to him, worry flashing across her face, "Robin, are you alright?"

Robin gave a gasp and choked a little.

"_He's punctured my lung_!" he coughed and Alex rolled her eyes.

"Robin," she began patiently, "your lungs are a bit higher up than that," she attempted to prise his hands from around his stomach but he gave a howl.

"Punctured my _spleen_ then!" he cried.

"I didn't get you _that_ hard, Rob," Simon cried, kneeling beside him.

"Then why does it _hurt?"_ Robin cried.

"Because you're a bigger ruddy drama queen than Geoff after losing his best loofah!" Gene barked "get up, Batman."

"I can't, I've got internal bleeding," Robin muttered, rubbing his guts.

"_Oh for…"_ Gene began but Alex silenced him with a glare.

"If you two hadn't turned this office into a boxing ring this wouldn't have happened," She hissed, looking back at Robin. She closed her eyes briefly. Robin had a flair for the dramatic, that much was true, but Simon's elbow had caught him off-guard and he did look pained. "Robin," she began patiently, "let's get you up and get you a glass of water, alright?"

"I can't drink water, it hurts too much," Robin whimpered and Simon rolled his eyes.

"Alright, you've exceeded your guilt-trip limit, I didn't hit you that hard," he cried, getting to his feet.

"You'll take that back when I'm lying on the operating table," Robin muttered as he finally allowed Alex to help him up but refused to pull himself into an upright position, hunched over all the way to a chair, "where's Jake?" he whined, "I need Jake!"

"He's not kissing it better in my office!" Gene cried in alarm.

"_For first aid!"_ Robin cried.

"You'll be needing more than a first aid kit to deal with the bruises I'm going to give you if you don't snap out of this whingefest!" Gene threatened but Alex shushed him again.

"Simon," she said patiently, "go and find Jake."

Simon's face darkened.

"He's not _that_ badly hurt!" he cried.

"Yes, but if you don't he will probably insist you are being really horrible to him," Alex hissed, "to keep the peace, just _get_ him will you?"

Simon ran his hands through his hair, wishing he could erase the last ten minutes from history. In fact, no, the last _hour_. If only he could go back to the moment he'd looked at that photo-fit. He should never have gone to the shop, never taken the tapes, certainly never have risen to the bait when Gene began throwing every ounce of anger he had in his direction. He gingerly touched the side of his lip which was stinging and bleeding a little from a punch Gene had thrown in his direction before the cavalry had arrived. It wasn't the first time they'd come to blows. Funny how Keats always seemed to be behind it.

"Fine," he muttered, "I'll get Jake."

Robin barely even noticed Simon leaving as he clutched his belly and groaned,

"He's killed my spleen!" he looked at Alex, "where _is_ the spleen? Is it here?" he poked himself in his stomach and flinched, "Ow, _why_ did I do that?"

"Robin," Alex began patiently, "I am fairly sure your spleen will survive. But you need to calm down. OK?"

Robin began to feel a little silly. His cheeks reddened as the throbbing started to subside just a little.

"Get Kim," he asked awkwardly, "she'll know what to do."

"No, she'll tell you off for being an idiot and threaten to pierce your arse," Alex told him

"It'll match my punctured spleen," Robin mumbled as a slightly worried Jake knocked against the open door.

"Um," he began awkwardly, "is everything OK? DCI Shoebury told me to –" he looked from Gene's bleeding nose to Robin all hunched over, then back behind him to Simon's slightly swollen lip. "What _happened_ in here?!"

"I've got internal bleeding," Robin told him.

"There was a slight disagreement," Alex interrupted, "Robin unfortunately got caught in the crossfire."

Jake looked at Robin worriedly and hurried across to him.

"What _happened?"_ he asked.

"Simon's elbow," Robin flinched as Jake gently removed his arms from around his middle, "_Ow!"_

"Sorry," Jake said quietly, "here, let me just take a look," he carefully pulled Robin's shirt from the top of his trousers and lifted it up a little.

"Bloody hell, now I know why they call them shirt-lifters," Gene mumbled earning another glare from Alex.

"Do you _really_ think this is a good time?" she hissed.

"Does this hurt?" Jake asked, pressing very gently and earning a yelp from Robin.

"_Yes!"_ he squealed.

"Bloody hell, Batman, bung a bit of TCP on it and get back to yet doggy day care centre," Gene rolled his eyes as Robin flinched.

"No _thank_ you," he mumbled, "I fucking hate the smell of that stuff. _Ow!"_ he added as Jake prodded him gently.

"Sorry," Jake said quietly. He looked up at Robin. "I think it's just bruised," he said "but I'm not sure."

Robin looked alarmed.

"I _knew_ it!" he cried, "is it my spleen?"

"N-n-n-no," Jake said slowly, "but you seem a little swollen."

"That's more likely to be down to the industrial-sized tin of beans he puts away every morning," Gene barked.

"Even so, if you're in that much pain maybe you should be checked out properly," Jake said worriedly and Robin shot an accusing look at Gene and Alex.

"I _told_ you I was dying," he told them.

"No, I think you'll survive," Jake told him patiently, "I just want to be on the safe side." he got to his feet and held his hand towards Robin. "Come on. I'll drive you."

Robin yelped as Jake hauled him to his feet and began to guide him away with an arm around his back.

"I'll tell Kim," Alex called after them as a wet thud sounded nearby.

"What was that?" Robin cried, "did my spleen fall out?"

"Bammo dropped a water balloon," Jake informed him and Robin blushed.

"Oh."

Alex sighed and shook her head, watching Robin and Jake leave CID. She turned back to Gene, waiting for an explanation but none came. Eventually she folded her arms.

"Well?"

Gene folded his in return.

"Well what?"

"Are you going to tell me why your office played host to the latest pay per view boxing event?" Alex asked, raising an eyebrow and Gene's face darkened.

"Nope," he said awkwardly. The last name he wanted to bring up in front of Alex was Keats's. "Tired of my team being ruled by their underpants instead of their brains, that's all."

"Gene," Alex said firmly and Gene looked down. He didn't know what to tell her he wasn't even sure what was happening himself.

"You've got me there, Bolly," he said, "I don't know what's _what_ any more." He shook his head, "or who's on my side."

His words troubled Alex, but not as much as the strange wave of darkness that smothered them momentarily. Starlight danced across the ceiling, so briefly that it could have been a daydream, but the flicker of flame that followed represented nothing short of a nightmare.

Their eyes fixed upon one another's, their complexions suddenly as pale as snow. Neither dared speak. Neither dared ask the question on both their minds, because neither truly wanted to know the answer, until eventually Gene dared to breathe the words.

"What the hell was that?"

Unfortunately they both had a feeling his question also held the answer.

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: Hey everyone, like I said last time updates will be slow until the new year but I'm going to do my best to get into a more regular pattern again after next week. I really appreciate your feedback, and wow, the review from Ian Darling really struck me, I cannot believe this series is equivalent to 6 War and Peaces, and there is still more to come – the fact that so many of you have stuck with it is amazing! Thank you so much!**_


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